


Family, Duty, Honor

by FromTheBoundlessSea



Series: The Celiaverse [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Sansa, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brother-Sister Relationships, Celia is trying to make the best of a situation, Character Death, Cheating, Depression, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Dark Dany, Eventual Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Eventual antagonistic Dany, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I apologize if people thought different, I didn’t realize I needed to, It’s there but not the point, Jaime Lannister-centric, Jaime needs a hug, Jon Snow is Not a Targaryen, Jon Snow is a Stark, Jon and Robb are Twins, Jonsa plot begins in chapter 31, Letters, Minor Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, One step forward two steps back, POV Jaime Lannister, POV Jon Snow, POV Sansa Stark, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Jaime Lannister, Sansa Stark is Not a Stark, Sansa Stark is a Lannister, Sexual Content, She still hates Jaime, She’s Jaime and Celia’s daughter, Sibling Incest, Sister-Sister Relationship, Slow Burn, So many letters, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, but an antagonist none the less, but she really won’t like Sansa or Jaime, husband-wife relationship, just entitled, please per me emphasize this, she’s a sympathetic antagonist, she’s not mad, this is going to be super depressing at one point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2020-12-17 18:44:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 91
Words: 149,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21059177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheBoundlessSea/pseuds/FromTheBoundlessSea
Summary: In order to bear some responsibility for the murder of the Mad King, Jaime Lannister is stripped from his position of the Kingsguard and reinstated as his father’s heir. In order to better solidify the alliances between all the rebelling families, Jaime is married to the youngest Tully girl, Celia.While navigating the new dynasty and the ghosts of the Targaryen reign, Celia finds herself alone in the lion’s den with little love from her husband and her only comfort is her children. When Celia learns a life altering secret, she must do what she can to protect her children and the broken man she has come to care for.While the story will initially focus on Jaime and Celia, Sansa Lannister and Jon Stark will find their voices too as they navigate a world of five kings and threats of fire and ice. For in both, they have two sets of family words, but together, they both strive to fulfill their mothers’: Family, Duty, Honor





	1. Jaime I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What If](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6707434) by [darks1st3r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darks1st3r/pseuds/darks1st3r), [FromTheBoundlessSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheBoundlessSea/pseuds/FromTheBoundlessSea). 
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I’m going to start another WIP. What else am I supposed to do? Lol
> 
> Fair warning, there will be some Cersei and Jaime romance, but it is not the point of the story nor will it last.

They were married in the sept at Casterly Rock. 

His bride was two years younger than him and so very quiet that Jaime wondered if she were mute. When he cloaked her in Lannister red and she looked up at him with her big blue eyes, he felt nothing. He was sure most grooms felt something, even if it were just lust, but he felt nothing. He would never love this girl or the woman she would grow to be. However, he would not hate her. It was not her fault that his father and hers had made this match so Jaime might escape the fate of taking the black. 

Their wedding feast was small and Jaime had no doubt his father hated it, but the men needed to rest for they would be heading off to Storm’s End or wherever it is they were going. Jaime would be going with them, leaving his bride behind in the lion’s den. 

“Would you like to dance, Ser?” she asked softly from their spot at the high table. 

He glanced over at her. She was pretty, he supposed. Whent red hair and Tully blue eyes. He had seen her eldest sister, Catelyn, at the Tourney at Harrenhal and thought her much prettier. However, none could match Cersei in Jaime’s heart. 

“I’m not particularly fond of dancing,” he admitted. 

“Oh.” She looked down at her hands folded in her lap before glancing back at the dancing before them. 

Jaime just wanted the wedding to be over with. Soon enough, the men began shouting for a bedding ceremony. His wife, her name still unregistered in his mind, was pulled from her seat and lifted upon the shoulders of the crowding men. Jaime ignored her and glanced at Cersei.

His sister was the only woman present. Most of the work women were too busy preparing food and other essentials for the next day’s journey to be there. Cersei walked to him with every inch of grace that Jaime could remember Princess Elia having. He offered her his arm and they left the dining hall. No doubt those that had remained guessed that she would be telling him to be gentle with his young wife or whatever advice a sister might give to her brother when no mother was present. 

However, once they were far enough away from prying eyes, Jaime rucked up his sister’s skirt, pressed her into the wall, and thrust into her until she was almost screaming and he promised that he would come to her later that night once he finished his duties. She had kissed him, whispering _ mine, mine, mine _when he finished inside her. 

Those words echoed in his chest, drowning out _ burn them all. _

—

He finally entered his chambers where his bride—Celia, that was her name—was sitting on his bed in her shift. She was blushing so terribly that Jaime wondered if she might overheat. Her red hair was loose and she was running her fingers through it nervously. 

She stood as he entered and gave him a curtsy. “Ser.”

He looked her over and sighed inwardly. She was a skinny thing, it would be hard to imagine Cersei while taking her. 

“Will it hurt, Ser?”

“Will what hurt?”

She turned red again. “Cat says it does not always hurt but Lysa says that it feels as though you are being run through with a sword,” she said quickly. “But Lysa has never been run through by a sword so I don’t know if she speaks the truth. Cat said it can be nice, but so many say it isn’t, not the first time at least.”

Ah. That. 

“It is better to simply get it done with,” he told her.

“Oh,” she looked down at her bare feet. “I thought you were really brave.”

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Brave?”

“The… the Mad King.”

_ Burn them all. _

“I was a ladies maid to Princess Elia,” she said, “but Father was able to smuggle me out. I was there when he… when he killed Lord Stark and Lord Brandon.”

_ Burn them all _.

“It was… you did the right thing.”

_ Burn them all _.

“Get on the bed,” Jaime ordered, his voice restrained. He just wanted to disappear inside.

_ Burn them all. _

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide. She did as she was told and sat on the bend before pushing herself back so that she was all the way on the bed. Jaime undid his trousers and pulled his shirt from them. He would keep the shirt on, wanting as much between them as possible. Even so, his father and hers would no doubt check to make sure that her maidenhead had been taken. He crawled atop her and she looked up at him, her hair the color of fire spread beneath her. 

“Don’t speak,” he ordered. If she was quiet, he could close his eyes and pretend it was Cersei. “Make as little noise as possible. Do you understand?”

She nodded before closing her eyes. 

Jaime reached between them and readied her. He wasn’t cruel. He would make this as painless as he possibly could, but this wasn’t lovemaking, it was coupling for an heir, he couldn’t even call this fucking. There was nothing behind it. No love. No hatred. Nothing. 

When she was ready, he entered her slowly, letting himself disappear inside himself before he forced his way as deep as he could. Jaime closed his eyes and began to move, thinking of Cersei and her possessive proclamations. 

_ Mine. Mine. Mine. _

Hers. Jaime would only ever belong to her. His other half. The only one who could possibly understand him. Know him. Love him. 

His wife moaned underneath him and he just wanted it to be over. He worked himself to his release and once he had spilled fully inside her, he pulled out and rolled away from her. Jaime kept his eyes closed, trying to find himself again. Find where he had disappeared to. He stiffened when he felt his wife, Celia, brush her fingers along his hair, tucking it away from his face. 

Jaime took her wrist in his hand and pulled it away from his face. He stood up and went to where he had discarded his trousers. “Sleep here,” he told her. “These are to be our chambers, or one of them, I suppose.”

She had sat up and was watching him, her shift rumpled and Jaime could see the slight stain of blood between her thighs. “Have I displeased you, Ser?”

He looked at her. She reminded him of Queen Rhaella in a way or maybe Princess Elia. It wasn’t her fault that he could not love her. “No,” he said finally. “I have things I must do before I leave.”

She nodded. “I… I wish you good fortune on your travels and shall pray to the Warrior every day for you.”

Jaime finished tucking in his shirt. He said nothing, but merely nodded before leaving his room. 

He went to find Cersei. To love her and spend as long as he can in her arms for who knew what the next battle might bring. 

—

His wife wrote to him often, although he had little time to write her back. He did not have time to write Cersei either so he felt no guilt for it. His sister wrote little of his wife, save for when she annoyed her. 

_ My dearest Jaime, _

_ Your little wife has begun to amuse herself with the presence of our younger brother. She walks with him in the garden and is teaching him poetry and such nonsense. She then always asks after you to see if you have written me, but I have received no letters from you or Father for that matter. I find your wife to be incredibly dull and insipid. Perhaps I might have liked her if she seemed to have any sort of cunning. She is truly a fish. I doubt she will thrive as a lion. ... _

Her letter continued in detail of what she dreamed upon his return. She detailed how her fingers were not enough and how she wished he would return to her. Rarely did Jaime find time to seek pleasure from his own hand, but in the moments he did, it was with Cersei’s name at the tip of his tongue. 

The Baratheon/Lannister army had barely finished the siege of Storm’s End when he received a letter he knew not how to react. 

_ Dear Ser, _

_ I pray that this letter finds you in good health and cheer. I know my letters are no doubt boring to you in comparison to your sisters. I have only a younger brother and know not what to write about save for the happenings of the keep and so forth. _

_ However, you will find that the content of this letter is far different from any previous. _

_ I am happy to inform you that I am with child. I had been suspicious in the time I was writing my previous letter, but I did not wish to give you a false hope. The maester believes I am three months pregnant, which makes sense due to our wedding having taken place that long ago. _

_ I await your return and pray that you may come home soon so that you might be here when the time comes. However, I understand that you have more important things to handle. _

_ I have thoughts for names and wondered if you had any as well. I have thought Arthur, for Arthur Dayne, if the babe is a boy, and Sansa, for I like the sound of Sansa Lannister, if it is a girl. However, I shall name the child at your pleasure for you are certainly more knowledgeable of names for a Lannister child. _

_ I await your return and shall pray to the Warrior, Mother, and Father. _

_ Your loving wife, _

_ Celia Lannister _

Jaime set the letter down and stared at it for a long time. He found no reaction but a laugh. A child. He closed his eyes and his stomach dropped. 

Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon wrapped in Lannister cloaks. His father and Robert Baratheon smiling. 

He opened his eyes. How ironic that he might have a child when the children of the man he swore himself to no longer drew breath. 

—

When he and his father returned to Casterly Rock, he was greeted by his sister, his brother, and his wife and son. 

Celia seemed to have a healthier glow than she had the last time he saw her. She held a small bundle swaddled in Lannister red. She curtsied to him and his father. 

“Ah, the littlest lion,” Tywin said with a smile. It almost appeared genuine and Jaime could not remember a time that he had last seen his father smile so truly. “Have you named him?”

“Arthur Lannister, my lord,” she said rocking the babe and cooing at him once he became restless. “I have hope that he might be as great a knight as his namesake and father.”

“A strong name,” Tywin replied. “May I hold him?”

Celia looked to Jaime, who nodded in answer to her unasked question. Hesitantly, she handed their son to his grandfather. 

Jaime could not remember his father ever holding Tyrion and realized this might have been the first time he had ever seen the great Tywin Lannister hold a child. The Lannister patriarch held his grandson tenderly and smiled as he spied the blonde tufts of hair. 

“His eyes are blue,” Celia admitted. “Although sometimes they look green when we are outside.”

“He appears healthy.”

Celia beamed. “Yes, my lord. He came into the world with a good set of lungs. I feared I might not sleep a wink after that, but he is a very quiet soul in general. He is a rather gentle babe.”

Tywin gave his grandson back to his mother. He turned to Jaime. “It appears we must celebrate. The Lannister line is to continue and it has been agreed that Cersei will marry the new king Robert Baratheon.”

Jaime’s stomach twisted into a knot. Cersei would be leaving him for King’s Landing. He had only just gotten her back. Now they were to be separated again. Could the gods truly be so cruel?

_ Burn them all. _

Jaime closed his eyes. 

Of course they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys like how I did Jaime? Does this even work? I’m not sure, but I’m going with it! 😋


	2. Celia I

“Is my brother good to you?”

Celia looked at her good sister through the mirror as she finished one of the decorative braids for her wedding hair. “He is kind, my lady,” Celia replied. “He is distant, but we are strangers. He is not cruel and I think that is all a girl can hope for.”

Cersei smiled at her through the mirror. Celia blushed. They had the same eyes, her husband and his sister. Her good sister was beautiful and looked like the Maiden reborn. Her husband, the Warrior. 

“And you are to visit often from Casterly Rock?”

Celia nodded. “Of course. I shan’t keep little Arthur from his Aunt Cersei.”

“Speaking of,” the nurse said, coming in. “The little ser is hungry.”

Celia looked to Cersei. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

Celia took her son into her arms and loosened the top of her dress. Her son latched on quickly and began to feed. She cooed over here son and let his fist curl around one of her fingers. 

“I wonder if Ser Jaime looked like this when he was a babe.”

Cersei laughed. “Then I must have looked the same. Everyone says that, when we were swaddled, only our mother could tell us apart.”

Celia smiled. “I shall be happy I did not have twin boys or twin girls then. My sister, Cat, has twin boys and she’s lucky that one takes after her and the other takes after Ned.”

Arthur squirmed in her arms to tell her he was full. Celia stood and began to rock her son, humming a Riverland tune she remembered Cat singing to her when they were children. She was able to burp her son and handed him off to the nurse to take to the rooms she and her husband were sharing. King Robert had offered to let them use the royal nursery, but Celia had politely declined. She could still remember coming in to change the little prince’s diapers or mending the princess’ dresses. She could still hear Princess Elia’s laugh. 

“Celia?”

She blinked and looked to Cersei. Celia smiled. “It’s nothing. Now, let me finish your hair and then we will be ready for the procession to the sept.”

Celia continued to work on Cersei’s hair. Since Lady Lannister has died long ago and there were no Lannister sister to help, the duty of helping Cersei prepare fell on Celia. “Considering how lucky many of us women of the rebellion have been, I wonder if you will grace us with a little prince or princess soon.”

Cersei smirked. “Every girl in the Seven Kingdoms dreams of the man who is to become mine by oath.” The Lannister girl looked at peace. “I cannot imagine any woman being any happier.”

“Finished,” Celia said, setting the last pin in place. “He will be in awe of you,” she said truthfully. “Perhaps he will have sculptures of the Maiden remade in your image.”

Cersei laughed gently. She turned around and took Celia’s hand in her own. “We are sisters now, you and I.” She squeezed Celia’s hand gently. “I ask that you take care of our sweet brother Jaime.”

Celia squeezed her good sister’s hand back. “I will do my duty as a wife. I believe I can learn to love him as I know I love our son and whatever children the gods bless us with.”

“Good.” Cersei presses a gentle kiss to Celia’s cheek. “Shall we tell our father that we are ready?”

“Of course.”

—

Her husband took her from behind, burying his face into her neck, grunting as he groped at her breasts. It was almost painful, this way, but perhaps it was supposed to be like this? She did not know. The first time with her husband had not been as painful as Lysa had told her it  _ would _ be, nor was it as painless as Cat said it  _ could _ be. Perhaps they had exaggerated? 

Celia buried her face into the sheets to muffle her moans. Ser Jaime did not seem to like her voicing herself during their couplings and Celia so wanted to please him—to find happiness as Cat had. She wanted her husband’s love and, at least, affection. 

At the very least it did not wake Arthur, who was asleep in his crib. 

The tension and her belly coiled and sprang as her husband continued to rut behind her, his pace quickening. She felt him spend and he froze until he had filled her. He pulled out and rolled onto his back, his eyes were closed. Celia lowered herself onto her side and watched her husband carefully. 

Many women had been jealous of Cersei that day for marrying the king, the hero of Westeros. However, Celia loved the man she laid beside. The man who had saved the Seven Kingdoms from fire and blood. 

She knew he did not remember her. But she had been there too when Lord Stark and Lord Brandon had been killed. She remembered going to the gardens and crying at such cruelty. At the death of the man her sister was to marry. At the horror of the king’s laughter. Ser Jaime had seen her then, or at least noticed her for the first time. He offered her a handkerchief emblazoned with a golden lion. She had kept the token for she had been smuggled away from King’s Landing not long after. Her husband could be kind, she knew. She just wished that she knew how to have him love her. 

Ser Jaime sat up and got off the bed. He went for the water basin and brought her a washcloth to clean herself and did the same for himself. He then pulled on his trousers. Before climbing into bed. 

Her husband did not appear to enjoy pressing himself to her in their sleep, although she occasionally awoke to him wrapped around her, holding her tight. On those nights there were tears in his eyes as he uttered one word:  _ please _ . Over and over and over. Celia would wake him and he would leave to go to the training yard. 

How Celia wished he would open up to her. 

Celia awoke to a knock at the door. She hadn’t even realized that she had fallen asleep. She sat up as Ser Jaime got out of their bed. Arthur gave out a displeased whine and Celia stood to get her son. He might be hungry again. She picked up Arthur just as Ser Jaime opened the door. 

“What?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. 

“The Queen is asking to see you, Ser.” Celia recognized the voice as a Lannister soldier. 

Her husband stiffened visibly. “Is everything alright?”

“She simply wishes to see you.”

“One moment.” Ser Jaime closed the door and went about collecting his clothes. Once he was moderately dressed, he left without a word or glance to Celia. 

She held her son close in her arms and sat down to let him suckle. 

She did not understand why, but tears began to prick her eyes. Even with her son in her arms, she felt so very much alone. 

—

Celia breathed a sigh of relief once they finally returned to Casterly Rock. Her husband had spent most of their time in King’s Landing, after the wedding, with his sister. She could not begrudge him for it since she felt the same about her own sisters. Even so, she wished that he might spend more time with her and Arthur. 

She had written to Cersei, asking advice on how she might gain her husband’s interest since Cersei had known Ser Jaime their whole lives. 

_ To my sweet good sister, _

_ You must always remember that my brother was once a member of the kingsguard. He had taken a vow of chastity and I very much doubt he ever gave much thought to being married. If I recall correctly, he had almost been engaged to your sister Lysa, but got distracted speaking to your uncle of knighthood and such.  _

_ Do not feel disheartened, little sister. Jaime must simply be very peculiar on who bestows such loving affection. Perhaps you should learn different ways to please him in bed? Although I doubt my brother would ever lower himself, men do often go to the smallfolk for pleasure. Perhaps they have a way that might help you conquer him. _

_ I wish you the best of luck, good sister, although I fear Jaime’s heart is no longer his to give.  _

_ With amused affection, _

_ Cersei Lannister _

—

“Hello, good sister.”

Celia looked up from the letter she had just finished writing to Cat. “Hello, Tyrion.” The thirteen-year-old boy spent his days rarely leaving the castle. He was a doting uncle to his little nephew, commenting on how it was nice to no longer be the small one. “Have you finished with your lessons?”

“As much as the maester can stand. I fear I find him boring.”

She smiled. He reminded her a little of her younger brother Edmure. “You need to learn your lessons, Tyrion.”

The boy sighed. “But it’s boring.”

“Most adult things are boring.”

Tyrion frowned. “You’re only five years older than I am.”

“And I feel so much smarter for it.”

He rolled his eyes. 

“Did you need something, Tyrion?”

“I hear my brother plans to return to the capital soon. The king has called him to train some of the new kingsguard.”

Celia blinked. 

“Ah. So you didn’t know then.”

She blushed. “I am certain he forgot to mention it or thought I already knew.”

Tyrion shrugged. “Do you think you could convince Jaime to take me with him? I want to see the skulls of the last dragons.”

“I’ll speak to him, Tyrion.”

Her good brother nodded. “Okay. Say hello to your sister for me.”

“There’s room in the corner if you’d like to say so yourself.”

Tyrion scribbled a  _ hello  _ and signed his name at the corner of Celia’s letter. She rolled it and stamped her seal upon the letter. She would give it to the maester to sent tomorrow. 

Now, she was off to see her husband. 

She found him in their solar looking at the sleeping Arthur in his crib. He glanced up at her as she entered. 

“Are you returning to the capital?”

“Yes, the king and Cersei wish me to train the new kingsguard.”

“But we’ve only been back for three months.” She hates how childish she sounded. “How long will you be gone?”

“For as long as I am needed.”

_ Look at me _ , she wanted to beg.  _ Please, look at me.  _ “Will you return for Arthur’s first nameday?”

“Perhaps.”

“Can you not even promise?”

“Why should I make a vow I might break. You must be aware how little I care for vows. How easily they can be broken.”

“Ser Jaime—”

“What?”

_ Stay.  _ “Tyrion wished for me to ask if you might bring him to King’s Landing. He wishes to see the dragon skulls.”

Her husband snorted. “Of course he does.”

—

“C—” her husband grunted against her ear as he finished. He pulled out of her almost immediately that time. They had just gotten word that his journey to King’s Landing would be delayed due to some flooding on the main road. He had taken her to their rooms and bent her over her writing desk and brought himself to relief. 

She had grown used to how her husband coupled with her. Celia had heard some of the maids tell bawdy tales of their own husbands or lovers. There were many different ways for a man to take a woman, the way her husband did was certainly one of them. Perhaps it was just a preference. 

She turned to look at her husband as he straightened out his clothes. Celia smoothed out her skirts and glanced to her husband. He was already turned away, as though preparing to leave. Celia wrapped her arms around his arm, holding herself close to him. “Can I not pleasure you some more, Ser?”

He froze and looked down at her. His green eyes were hard and distant. “No,” he replied. “You cannot.”

Celia let him go and watched as her husband left their room with little evidence that he had ever been there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly believe Cersei went into the marriage with Robert intending to be faithful. Her quote to Celia is very similar to what she told Ned. However, on their first night, Robert whispered Lyanna’s name and Cersei licked her heart away to protect herself. So, in this, she called for Jaime as soon as she could because only HE could truly love her. So, when Cersei was talking to Celia, she was being sincere about her being a good wife to Jaime. 
> 
> I also feel like Cersei became Jaime’s security blanket after all the stuff that happened in King’s Landing. He never planned on marrying and Cersei was going to be his only love, while Cersei appeared to be fine marrying Rhaegar or Robert (at first). I forgot to tag this as slow burn so... get ready for that.


	3. Jaime II

His wife stood between his father and brother, their son in her arms. Arthur was sitting up, his head resting against Celia’s shoulder. His blond curls were tucked behind his ears and his blue eyes were watching him curiously. He hadn’t spent much time with his son, not as much as he wished, but he was too busy. At times, when he looked at the boy, he saw silver hair instead of gold, violet eyes instead of blue. Wrapped up in a red cloak stained with blood. What right did he have to touch the child. 

“Remind your sister of her duties as queen,” Tywin said with every inch of authority he always carried. “The king needs an heir.”

Jaime’s stomach twisted into a knot at the idea of Cersei growing round with someone else’s child. Of her birthing a dark haired prince that looked nothing like her. Nothing like him. Holding back his grimace, he nodded to his father slightly. 

“Write to me,” Celia said when he took her hand and kissed it in farewell. “I will tell you when Arthur starts trying to walk.” 

Their son was crawling now. Jaime could hardly believe it. Tyrion has been mildly displeased by the whole thing, but that was more due to how much the boy had grown over the past four months. 

“I will try to find the time.” There would be nothing to write about. Perhaps a tourney he might win where he would crown Cersei as the Queen of Love and Beauty, but that was it. He would not tell her of those moments he would take Cersei as his own and they could pretend that they were all that mattered. That they could have a son of their own that might become king. A true lion to rule Westeros. A true lion that would be better than any stag or dragon. 

Celia nodded, but did not look at him. He guessed that she had yet to forgive him for missing their son’s first nameday. She pulled her hand back and held their son more securely in her arms, pressing her nose to the top of his head and kissing it. 

“Why can’t I come with you,” Tyrion mumbled. 

“Tyrion,” their father warned.

Jaime opened his mouth, ready to say that Cersei had forbidden it, but Celia cut in. 

“It is my fault, I think,” she said quickly. “I shall be quite lonely without Ser Jaime and he could not bare to deprive Arthur of his favorite lion uncle.”

This seemed to pascify Tyrion and he remained quiet. 

Jaime did not respond and instead turned to go to his horse. He mounted the beast and glanced at his family once more before heading down the road to King’s Landing. 

—

He was beating her. 

Jaime saw red when he caught sight of the bruise across his sister’s cheek. 

“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” Cersei said, waving her hand at his concern. “It was an accident. He was speaking with his hands after falling too much in his cup and I was in the way.”

Jaime cupped her face in his hands. “I’ve killed one king before for less.”

Perhaps they would kill him then. Perhaps they would let him take the black. Then he would not have to be so unfaithful to his love for Cersei or his vows to his wife. 

Cersei put her hands over his and kissed him gently. “It matters not,” she said. “You are here and I will not let you do anything that might take you away from me.”

They fell into bed together, finding that nothing had changed about themselves. Finding that they could still map each other’s bodies with their fingers and lips. She was still his Cersei and he was still her Jaime. Even all these months apart they still belonged together, two halves brought together to become whole. 

He could disappear inside her and all the memories could fade. All the nightmares could end. 

“How is your little wife?” she asked once they were spent and panting. 

“I don’t want to talk about her,” he replied. “Not here, not like this.”

“Is she good to you? Does she satisfy you like I do?”

Jaime stroked her cheek with his thumb. “She is no you. She does not speak when we couple. I can close my eyes and pretend it’s you.”

Cersei snorted. “I am not nearly as boyish as she.”

“No,” he smiled. “You are not.”

“And your little Arthur?” Cersei said, folding her arms across his chest and resting her head on them. “How is our little lion?”

“Well, I will miss his first nameday, but I would rather be here.” He kissed the crown of her head. “With you.”

Cersei smiled. “If I had a girl…” Jaime stiffened. “If I had a girl… perhaps she and Arthur could marry. I can have a girl that looks as I do and Arthur will stand by her side.” He relaxed against her. “They could be in public where we never could.”

Jaime kissed her again, the idea of her having Robert Baratheon’s child making his stomach twist. “Perhaps.”

—

“I’ve been drinking moon tea after every time Robert coupled with me,” his sister admitted one night when the king was deep in his cup and off with one of his many whores. He had been in King’s Landing for two months and his son was now one. “It’s why I haven’t fallen pregnant yet.”

Jaime watched her as she twirled his hair between her fingers. It hurt slightly, but he would suffer anything for his sweet sister. “Father wants you to have a child, Cersei.” He hated it. Hated those words. Hated their father for marrying Cersei like a broodmare. Marrying her to a drunk king who found pleasure in other women and a ghost when he had the most beautiful woman in all Seven Kingdoms ready for his bed. “If you don’t have a child… Robert May divorce you. Father would send you to the Silent Sisters.” _ Away from me _. Cersei continued to play with his hair in thought. “Cersei.”

“What if I have your son?”

His mind went to Arthur first.

Cersei crawled up and straddled his hips. She looked like the Maiden reborn. “What if you give me a son, Jaime? What if you give me a son and a true lion sits in the Iron Throne? Someone as beautiful as us and as good as us. The Targaryens could do it. Why can’t we?”

_ Burn them all. _

“Cersei…”

She bent down and kissed him sweetly, rolling her hips against his. “The only people that matter will be us and our children.”

Jaime closed his eyes. Children. 

—

_ Dear Ser, _

_ Arthur has begun to babble in earnest now. I fear his steps are growing more sure as well. It feels as though just yesterday the maester put him in my arms. Soon, he will be picking up swords and riding horses. Where have the days gone, Ser Jaime? _

_ He looks for you. When he lays with me in bed, he wishes to nap on your side, curling around the stuffed lion your father gave or the fish my brother sent. He misses you, Ser. I believe he even knows what road you will come down on when you return, what gate you will enter. He fusses when we pass it and wishes to wait there for you for minutes on end. _

_ Do you know when you will return? _

_ Tyrion has begun to show some interest in coin and strategy. I fear he will begin beating me in cyvasse soon. _

_ I have found a girl in Lannisport that I have asked your father to let me take on. She’s a girl whose parents hail from Naath. Her name is Avari. She is but fourteen, however she has an ear for languages and has true potential. Your father was not pleased when I put such a notion forward, however I made him see sense. Avari has begun to speak to Arthur in High Valyrian and a few other Essosi languages. I have taken her and her parents in. Her father, Massor, is a great smith by trade and her mother, Syrina, is a wonderful seamstress. They are such lovely people and I know that we shall be great friends and Arthur adores Avari. I fear I am only a little jealous. _

_ I pray that things are going well in King’s Landing. Give Cersei my love and let her know that, should the king allow, I am certain Arthur would love to see his aunt again. _

_ Your loving wife, _

_ Celia Lannister _

—

They tried for children earnestly. 

Every chance they got they would try.

Jaime hates to think the degradation that Cersei had to face in order for Robert to not spend in her. But when they shared a bed, nothing else mattered. They were the only ones who mattered. The only ones.

He imagined Cersei growing round with his child. She would look like the Mother. Every ethereal grace the gods have they would be bestowed upon her. He could see their son now. 

A prince with golden hair and green eyes. A true lion. He would bring about a true golden age of Westeros. 

“We will have three children,” Cersei whispered as he took her against the wall. “Three golden-haired children. Lannister’s through and through. They will be like gods as the Targaryens were.”

_ Burn them all _. 

Jaime buried his face into Cersei’s golden hair. She was his anchor. The only thing that mattered. The only thing that made sense. 

“Ours.”

He let her moans and cries drown out the voice of the Mad King. Let the look of her release wash away the image of Aegon and Rhaenys’ bodies. Of Princess Elia’s body. 

“Mine,” Cersei almost screamed as she found her release. 

Jaime buried himself deeper. Forcing the tears to not fall. 

—

Cersei was pregnant. 

A child. Theirs. 

“You have to go now,” she told him. 

Jaime felt his heart tighten. “What?”

“You’ve been here too long, Jaime. People might suspect something.”

“Hang what everyone else says! This is my child.” He put his hands on Cersei’s hips and pulled her to him. 

“Come back when it’s time for the babe to be born. Be with me then.” She kissed him tenderly before looking up at him with his own green eyes. “Please. We can’t risk Robert finding out. You know what he does to children”

Jaime shuddered, the image of the young princess and the still younger prince wrapped in Lannister cloaks. Bloodied. 

_ Princess Rhaenys kissing his cheek when he picked her up. Prince Aegon laughing when Jaime made a face for him _. 

“Jaime.”

He closed his eyes. “I will return to you when the babe is going to be born.”

Cersei smiled up at him as though he had given her the sun. “What shall we name him?”

“Him?”

“Just a feeling.”

“Joffrey,” Jaime said softly. “After Joffrey Dayne.”

“So he can be like his older brother?” Cersei put a hand to her flat belly. “Perfect.”

Jaime’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t thought of Arthur at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you guys think?
> 
> What did you think of Celia in this chapter?  
What did you think of Cersei? Cersei talking about Arthur and her own hypothetical daughter?  
What did you think of the decision to have Joffrey?  
What did you think of Celia’s letter?  
Thoughts on Jaime’s bad parenting?


	4. Celia II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t actually plan to update this daily, I’ve just been in a mood to write a lot for this. Lol!

Avari was truly the best friend Celia had ever had. True, Cat had almost always held a place, but now she was relegated to favorite sister. Although she was four years younger than Celia, they had plenty in common when it came to conversation and Avari was teaching Celia some Valyrian as well. 

“How are your parents settling in?” Celia asked as they did some sewing. 

“They are settling in well,” Avari answered. “Mother is pleased to have access to better fabrics and Father enjoys a full use of a forge.”

Celia smiled. “And you?”

“I have never had so many books within my reach.” Avari blushed. “I even found an old book on the Targaryens in Old Valyrian.”

“Oh? Is it so different from High Valyrian that you cannot read it?”

“No, the words are similar enough that I can understand what is being said. A few words seem to have been lost though.”

“How terrible that parts of a language have been so utterly lost. I have no real love for Valyria for their slaves and such, but to lose a language is such a horrid thing. Think of the histories we shall never truly learn from.”

“It lives on in High Valyrian, I suppose.”

“True.”

“Ah,” Tywin entered Celia’s solar. “There you are my dear.”

Celia and Avari stood, curtsying when they did. “My lord.”

He waved his hand at them both. “I have letters from my son. I have already read mine and know there is good news for you in your own.” He smiled kindly as he handed her a sealed letter. “There you are, my dear.”

Celia politely took the letter and thanked her good father before opening the letter gently. She pulled the letter from its casing and read it carefully. Her husband had not written her in weeks. 

_ Dear Lady,  _

_ I write to tell you that I should be returning to Casterly Rock within a few days time of you receiving this letter. I left Cersei in the capital in high spirits. She sends her love to you and Arthur and would enjoy it greatly if you or Arthur could join me in a visit King’s Landing at our earliest convenience.  _

_ I await the next chance I have to see Arthur again and to see how he is progressing as you have stated in your previous letters. I fear his chance of picking up love steal or riding anything without one of us present is a few years or so off. So, there is no need for him to worry. I believe the only one that should worry is Tyrion for he will once again be the smallest Lannister at that point in time.  _

_ Cersei has informed me that it is customary for a husband to bring his wife something when they return after a long time away. I have bought a Myrish necklace with a sapphire rose and rubied leaves for you that I shall give to you upon my return as well as a wooden child sword that Arthur might use by his second nameday. I would suggest my old one, but I know not where it is nor if it would even be in any condition for anyone, much less a child to use.  _

_ I shall see you in a few days time.  _

_ Your husband, _

_ Ser Jaime Lannister _

Celia rubbed her thumb across her husband’s name. He would be returning to her. Happiness swelled in her chest at the knowledge that her husband would be returning to her.

She looked up to find her good father and Avari both smiling at her. Celia blushed. “We should prepare for my husband's return. He has been gone for so long. Perhaps we might throw together a small feast? All of Ser Jaime’s favorites?”

“I have already sent word to the cook,” Tywin said gently. 

“My lady, my mother is almost die with your newest dress,” Avari said happily. “Perhaps we could have the fitting done before Ser Jaime returns?”

Celia’s cheeks burned into a deeper scarlet. She wondered how her husband might look at her in such a dress. “That would be lovely Avari, thank you.”

“Off you two go then,” Tywin instructed. “Perhaps we might expect another child within a year’s time.” 

Her good father actually winked and Celia felt she might faint at the thought of having another child. A child Ser Jaime would be present for. A child she would not have alone. 

—

The dress was much finer than the one she wore for her wedding. The one she was wearing to meet her husband looked as though it were spun with gold. It was cut in a Meerenees style that left her arms bare and a slightly lower neckline. She had been afraid that it was too much, but Tyrion had told her she looked alright while blushing and Lord Tywin told her she looked like a red haired Nymeria.

Celia held Arthur in her arms as they waited by the gate. Her son was bouncing himself. “Dadadadadadadada.” His babbling caused most everyone to smile as they waited for their lord’s heir to return to them. Arthur was adored by everyone in the castle. He smiled at everyone and waved to them whenever the passed by. Occasionally he would pat their heads when they bowed or curtsied to him. 

Celia kissed the top of her son’s head just as the gate opened. She looked up and smiled when she saw her husband ride in. He looked like a gallant knight from the songs. Her husband stopped his horse before them and got off. He ran his fingers through his hair and Celia blushed. Her husband was so very handsome. She was truly the luckiest woman in all Seven Kingdoms. 

All but Tywin gave a small bow or curtsy to Ser Jaime.

“Dadadadada!” Arthur squealed, reaching for Ser Jaime, his fingers curling and opening as they reached for him. 

Her husband looked mildly surprised, but hesitantly took the boy into his arms. Arthur patted his father’s cheeks with his hands and laughed. Her husband’s lips twitched into a small smile. 

The sight made up for her husband’s lack of comment on her own appearance. Perhaps now that her husband was home, he would be allowed to stay longer and they could truly begin to build their relationship as Cat and Ned had. 

—

A week or so later, a letter arrived from King’s Landing announcing that the queen was with child. The whole of Casterly Rock was in a happy mood. Everyone talked of whether the child would be an heir or a little princess. Celia hoped that it might be a boy so Arthur might have a cousin he could play with who lived closer. She had yet to see her sister and her twin boys. 

The only person who didn’t seem to be in a celebratory mood was Ser Jaime. He seemed withdrawn that day and Celia knew not how to help him. He seemed quiet and distant, more so than usual. He didn’t take part in the conversations going on about him. 

“He is probably simply annoyed that the queen didn’t tell him first,” Avari suggested. “I know that if I had a twin I would wish to be the first to know as well. After the father of course.”

Celia supposed this was true. Cat had written her as soon as she knew of her pregnancy and Celia had done the same, even if they were not twins. 

“Is it not good news?” Celia asked her husband as they readied for bed that night. Arthur has finally been placed in the nursery. Although Celia would miss having her son cuddle to her chest, she did not mind that she could now share her marriage bed and room with only her husband. “A little prince or princess.” Her husband pulled his sleeping shirt over his head as Celia looked at him through the mirror. “A Baratheon heir.”

“Get on the bed.”

Celia froze. She looked back at her husband. “What?”

“Get on the bed.” He spoke slowly, his green eyes were dark with an emotion Celia couldn’t read.

She stood slowly and walked to the bed. Celia crawled onto it on her hands and knees. She waited and tensed as she felt her husband her onto the bed behind her. She closed her eyes as her husband pushed her shift up over her hips and took her roughly from behind. 

Celia buried her face into her pillow and bit back a cry as her husband moved within her. This time was more painful than any before due to her husband not preparing her at all. Ser Jaime grunted behind her, slamming into her as though angry. Heat began to curl in her belly as she felt her release. She held back her moan as he continued through it. 

Celia turned her head to the side to breath. His hand was near he face and she held onto his wrist as he continued to pound into her. Over and over in a steady rhythm. She squeezed his wrist when his movements began to falter. The heat coiled in her belly once more and she released again when Ser Jaime’s movements froze and he moaned into the back of her neck.

He stayed there for a moment, sinking into her, pressing her against the bed. She felt his eyelashes flutter against her neck and he took a shuddering breath. He pulled out of her and got off the bed instead of laying down upon it. 

Celia pushed herself up and sat on her knees as she looked up at husband. He went to the water basin to clean himself off. Ser Jaime returned with a cloth for her as well. 

He was always gentle after their couplings. Sometimes she thought she saw shame grace her husband’s features, but she didn’t know why. 

“Have I displeased you, Ser?” she asked quietly, wincing as she finished cleaning herself. 

“What?” He looked pulled from his thoughts. 

“Have I displeased you?” she asked again, letting the wet cloth fall to the ground. “You were… it was more painful than usual.”

His face grew ashen as he looked at her in terror. “Did I hurt you?”

“It’s fine, Ser.”

He stepped closer to her. “Did I  _ hurt  _ you?”

“I imagine there might be bruises tomorrow,” she admitted. “But it is nothing, Ser.” She took his hand between her own. “There has always been some bruising, tonight was simply… rougher than usual.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“It’s nothing, Ser.” She didn’t understand why he was apologizing. “Isn’t that how it is supposed to be?”

“No, my lady,” he replied. “It isn’t.” He buried his face in his free hand. “It shouldn’t… Gods.”

“Ser Jaime?”

“My lady, if it ever hurts in a way you cannot bare, tell me.”

Celia blinked up at him. “But I am to be quiet—”

“Not if I am hurting you.” He sat down on their bed. “Never if I’m hurting you.” Ser Jaime looked at her, his face still ashen. “Forgive me, my lady.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Ser Jaime.”

He did not look convinced. 

Celia leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her husband’s cheek. “It is nothing, husband. But I promise that I will tell you if it is ever too much to bare.” She rested her head upon his shoulder. “I promise, I will tell you if you ever truly hurt me.”

He nodded. Ser Jaime curled his finger under her chin and tilted her head up. He pressed his lips to her forehead. 

Celia felt her heart flutter against her chest as he did. 

—

Whenever she and Ser Jaime coupled again, he was far gentler. He would kiss the back of her neck and whisper softly to her, asking if she was okay and if he needed to stop. It felt nice. She felt cherished. 

Things began to settle in Casterly Rock when she grew sick. At first she thought it was something she had eaten, but when the sickness did not stop, she went to the maester. 

The old man smiled at her. “Congratulations, my lady. It appears that we shall have another lion cub running alongside the young lordling soon.”

Celia glowed, pressing a hand to her flat belly. 

She was pregnant once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this chapter!
> 
> So, what did you guys think of Avari (Ah-var-e)? She and Celia will become really good friends! ❤️  
What did you guys think of her interactions with Tywin?  
Jaime’s letter?  
Arthur being adorable?  
What do you think of Jaime’s reaction to hurting Celia during their intimate moments? I sort of imagine his mind went straight to Aerys and Rhaella at the realization that he was hurting her.  
What did you guys think of his change in how he approached their more intimate moments?  
Baby Sansa on her way! ❤️


	5. Jaime III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just know this chapter will be a little longer than previous ones!
> 
> And Lord_Wayne made me a graphic for this fic! It’s the first time anyone has done any art or graphics for my fics! I’m quite happy! 😍 (I posted it on my tumblr as well)

  
(image by Lord_Wayne)

Jaime settle back into Casterly Rock, knowing he would return to King’s Landing for the birth of his child soon. The first time he had coupled with Celia upon his return had been after Cersei had announced to the realm that she was pregnant with Robert Baratheon’s heir. The claim had twisted his stomach into knots. He had raged at the thought that he could not claim his child as his own. His anger had taken over him as he went away inside, not thinking of his wife, who had none of the iron Cersei had beneath her skin. 

And, he had hurt her. 

His wife he could never hate. It was not her fault that the gods had brought her into his life when he had already vowed in his heart to love only Cersei. 

He had hurt her. He _ had _been hurting her. 

The next morning after _ that _coupling, he lifted her shift over her hip and saw the dark marks of his hand across her flesh and noticed the slightly awkward gait of her step the following day. 

He had done that. 

He had hurt her. 

How often had he been forced to stand and listen as Aerys did the same to Rhaella?

Jaime truly was a monster as the Targaryens were afterall.

_ Burn them all. _

“Ser Jaime?”

He looked up from his desk in the private study his father had set up for him. His wife stood by the now open door. A red shawl wrapped around herself. She had been feeling unwell recently and Jaime had ordered a shawl made of the best Northern wool to help keep her warm in the drafty castle. She had thanked him for the gift and wore it often, even when the shawl did not match whatever it was she was wearing. 

Jaime stood and went to her. He put his hands on her shoulders, searching her face for answers. “Are you alright? Did you go to the maester as I asked?”

Celia smiled up at him and nodded. “The maester said I was fine.”

Jaime frowned. “You certainly are not. You haven’t been able to keep your morning food down and have been tired for most of the time recently.”

“I am not sick, Ser Jaime.”

She was still smiling at him and Jaime vaguely remembered his mother making a similar expression. “My lady—”

Celia took one of his hands from her shoulder and pressed it against her flat stomach. “I’m with child.”

He stared at her for a long time before his gaze drifted down to her belly. His thumb brushed along the fabric of her dress and he could feel a slight hardness to it that had not been there before. 

“With child…” He continued to stare at her stomach. A child. 

“The maester confirmed it when I went to him today.”

“Did you have suspicions?”

“I’ve only been pregnant once before,” she laughed. “I am told all pregnancies are different.”

Jaime nodded. 

“Are you happy, Ser Jaime?”

He looked up at her and saw the slight glow in her features. A slow smile spread across his lips. He pressed a kiss to her brow. “Yes. Thank you.”

—

“What do you mean you will not be here?” his wife asked. Her hand went protectively over her belly. “But… surely Cersei would understand why you cannot keep such a promise!”

“She is the queen, my lady. This child could be the heir to the Iron Throne.” His skin felt tight and itchy as he explained to Celia why he would not be present at the birth of their second child. The two births were going to happen so close together. It was nearly impossible for him to be there for both his children. “She is the queen, I must do as she says.”

“You made this promise before you knew I was pregnant.” She took his arm in her hands. “Ser Jaime, please.”

Jaime shook his head. “I cannot stay.”

Tears began to spill down her cheeks as she turned to retreat to her solar. Avari, who had witnessed the whole thing, glared at Jaime with such venom that he wondered if he might keel over on the spot. The Naath girl followed his wife and turned her heated gaze away from him as she went to, no doubt, console his crying wife over the fact that he was choosing his sister over her. 

—

Jaime awoke to his wife whimpering beside him. She was curled into herself, shivering under their bedding. 

“No…” Her voice came out in a small breath. “Please…”

Jaime sat up and put his hand on her shoulder. “My lady—”

“No!” 

He recoiled as his wife shot from their bed and pressed herself to the corner of their room. She looked at him with wide eyes before seeming to place where she was. Celia slid down onto the floor and curled up again, pulling her knees to her chest, although it was difficult to do so with her much larger belly. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

Jaime got out of bed slowly, as not to startle her and sat down before his wife. “What did you dream that would cause such a panic, my lady?”

She shook her head and Jaime could see tears glistening in her eyes. “It was only a dream, nothing had truly happened.”

He frowned. “My lady, please.”

“I do not wish for you to be angry with me. I… I almost didn’t have a choice.”

Jaime paused. “I believe you, my lady. You have done nothing to make me angry at you. Please, tell me what you dreamed. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“When… when I served Princess Elia, I… I often had to go fetch things from other parts of the Red Keep. She was so busy tending to… to the children and I was younger and more able to rush about.”

Jaime moved so that he sat beside his wife as she continued her tale. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around one of his, as though it were an anchor. He put his hand over hers and held them firmly. 

“I… once I was in a part of the castle I had not previously been allowed near. It… it was the royal suite. Princess Elia said the queen had borrowed a book and she needed it back to read to the little princess. The queen was in the library and the king… the king was supposed to be in the throne room.”

Jaime tensed. 

“He… he wasn’t. The king… King Aerys found me in his solar. He asked if I was the girl his son had brought to serve the _ Dornish whore _.” Tears began to slide down her cheeks. “He cupped my breasts and asked how old I was.”

Jaime’s hand tightened over hers. He saw red. He wished he had cut off the Mad King’s hands. 

“Ser Arthur came in. He told the king that he was needed in the catacombs. Something about fire. I… the king left and Ser Arthur told me to never enter those rooms again, even if the princess or I thought the king would not be there. He told me to come find him should I ever have to go near them.” She looked at him with fright. “I swear to you, Ser, I came to you as a maid! I—”

“Shh…” Jaime hushed. “I know. I know.” He held her hand tightly. “Is that what you dreamed?”

She shook her head. “I dreamed that Ser Arthur did not come. I dreamed that the Mad King made you watch with a rope around your neck as he did with Brandon Stark. Arthur and the baby were crying.” Celia let go of his arm and buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry.”

Jaime did not hesitate. He brought his arms around his wife and pulled her into his lap. One arm was curled under her legs and the other supported her back. He pressed his nose into her hair. “Do not apologize to me.” He paused. “Is this the first time you dreamed such a thing?”

She shook her head. “I dreamed such a thing when I was pregnant with Arthur.”

Jaime held her closer to him, she had been alone then. He pressed a kiss to her temple as tears continued to slide down her cheeks. Carefully, Jaime picked his wife up in his arms and carried her back to their bed. He laid her down and pulled the covers over her. He climbed in on his side of the bed and pulled her body closer to his. “I promise, I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I promise. Even me.” He buried his face in her red hair. “If you ever feel unsafe with me or I ever do anything to hurt you, tell me and I will stop.”

Celia pulled his arm around her middle, around their child, and nodded. “I trust you, Ser Jaime. You’re a good man.”

Jaime closed his eyes and brought his wife closer to his chest. How he wished that were true. He had already broken her heart by not being there for this coming child’s birth. 

—

“I will return as soon as Cersei is settled again,” he said from his horse. 

Everyone seemed content with this arrangement, save for his wife and Avari. The Naath girl was glaring at him, Arthur in her arms. His son was reaching for him, but did not seem to truly want to leave Avari’s arms. 

Celia was looking down at the horse’s hooves, her hand covering her protruding belly protectively. 

“I will return,” he repeated. 

She glanced up at him, her eyes red rimmed.

He could not promise this. He bowed his head to her and turned on his horse and made his way to King’s Landing. 

—

“I hear your little fish is pregnant,” Cersei said once they were alone and he had finished kissing her breathless. 

An emotional he could not name began to coil in his stomach. “She is.”

“Why?”

He glanced at his sister and saw her cold green eyes glaring at him. “Father wanted us to have another child.”

A lie, but it was something he didn’t doubt his father wished for. 

In truth, he had found comfort in his wife’s body, especially once he had begun to take her more gently. He took pleasure in her sighs as she stretched around him and whispered his name as though her voice were the wind blown in from the sea. He felt like a good man, at times, when she curled around him afterwards, a smile melting across her lips. He wondered what it would have felt like had he and Cersei not begun this game when they were children, had he not given himself to his sister so completely by the time he had met the woman he called his wife. 

Cersei sneered. “Do you love her more than I? More than your other half? More than who you came into this world with?”

“Cersei,” he took his sisters hands in her own. “I love you. You know that. I shall never love anyone or anything as I love you.”

She looked mollified, but only slightly. “I suppose we can hope it is a girl then,” she said at last. “Perhaps then, if I have no girls of my own for Arthur, I can at least love the girl as _ your _daughter. Perhaps she could even marry Joffrey.”

“Perhaps,” Jaime answered. 

“Now,” Cersei said, pulling him closer. “I have found that I have grown _ wanting _ in these later stages of the pregnancy.” She kissed him slow and deep. “ _ Take _ me, Jaime. _ Show _me how much you love me.”

And he did.

Damn all the gods, he did. 

—

The maesters had attempted to keep him from Cersei when she was giving birth. The king had gone off hunting, having the gall to ask if Jaime wished to join him. No, he would stay there with his sister. Be there when his son was brought into the world. 

He sat by Cersei on her bed as she screamed. She held onto his hand like a viper and squeezed as the maester told her to push. 

It looked painful. He had never seen his sister in so much pain. He longed to soothe it, but he did not wish to endanger themselves. The labor went on for hours and the maester assured them that this often happened with the first child. 

“They’re mapping the way for all the others,” he had said.

Jaime wondered if Celia had gone through similar pain. Had she been alone? Had they not allowed his father or Tyrion to sit beside her and hold their hands.

“Push, your grace,” the maester urged. 

Cersei gave a loud cry and soon another set of lungs began to scream into the world. His wife gasped as all the tension in her body seemed to leave her. 

“You have birthed a prince, your grace,” the maester said proudly. “A golden prince. I shall wash him and then give him to you to feed.”

“Go with him,” Cersei urged. “Keep an eye on Joffrey.”

Jaime did as he was bid and followed the maester as he went to wash the squalling child. The midwives helped tend to Cersei with the afterbirth. 

“You did so well, your grace,” one of them tutted.

“So much better than that Tully girl, Lady Arryn,” the other said. “Poor girl. Lost the babe in the womb. Poor thing didn’t even get to take a breath. Lady Arryn almost bled out.”

Jaime stiffened. Although he looked at Joffrey, his gaze was not focused. He had been aware that his wife’s two sisters were both with child. Catelyn Stark has given birth to a baby girl, as indicated by a letter they had received before he had left for King’s Landing. He had known the other sister was pregnant, but he had not known she had lost it. 

_ Arthur and the baby were crying. _

Jaime closed his eyes. 

“Ser Jaime?”

He opened his eyes and saw the maester offering for him to hold the settling child. Jaime took the boy into his arms—had Arthur been this small?—and brought their son back to Cersei. 

His sister looked ethereal as she took the babe into her arms. She looked up at Jaime and smiled. “A son,” she said proudly. “A little lion.”

Jaime smiled but found it didn’t feel true. “I need to go, Cersei.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“I need to go.”

“Why?” Her tone was beleterent. 

“My wife is pregnant, Cersei. She needs me. It isn’t fair to her that I am not there.”

Cersei scowled. “Is your little fish more important than me?”

“Never, Cersei. It’s Father,” he lied. “He wants me back for other things as well.”

Cersei sniffed angrily and turned her head away from him. “Fine then,” she snapped. “Go to your little fish.”

Jaime bent down and kissed his sister on the cheek, mindful of the room full of people. “We still have two more children to go,” Jaime whispered to her. “I promise you, I will not give my wife another child. I swear it.”

Cersei appeared mollified and pressed a kiss to Jaime’s cheek. “I shall hold you to that.”

Jaime bowed as he left. He simply gave instructions for his things to be sent to Casterly Rock as soon as it was convenient. He rode straight from the stables and out of King’s Landing, hoping he was not too late. 

“I’m coming Celia,” he whispered as he rose as though the Stranger were on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think of Jaime’s reflection on his behavior towards Celia? His reaction towards the news of her pregnancy?  
Him telling her he probably wouldn’t be there for the birth?  
Celia’s admission of some of what she experienced while living in the Red Keep? I almost made it Rhaegar who rescued her, but I don’t like him and I like Arthur Dayne just a tad more than Rhaegar, so I had him do it.  
Avari stanning our girl Celia when Jaime is being a dumb-butt.  
What did you guys think of Cersei’s reaction to Celia being pregnant as well?  
I can’t write childbirth scenes at all. This is why I skipped them in my other fics. 😅  
Jaime going back to Celia after promising not to have any more children with her. Will he make it in time?


	6. Celia III

“I want Jaime,” Celia cried softly. She gripped Avari’s hand as the maester ordered her to push. It felt as though she were being split in two. Had it been this painful with Arthur? It had, Celia only remembered it now. “I want my husband.”

“I’m so sorry, Ce,” Avari whispered as she held Celia through another contraction. “It will be alright.”

Tears began to prick her lashes as she pushed again. 

“I can see the head, my lady,” the maester said. “Just a bit longer.”

Celia was crying then, letting out all her pain and frustration out. Pain that her husband had not remained and frustration over the fact that she was early. She wanted Ser Jaime to be with her. She loved Avari, but wished it were her husband holding her hand and telling her that everything would be alright. 

“Push!”

Celia screamed and pushed as much as she was able. Another cry joined hers and all the tension seemed to leave her body. 

“A little girl, my lady,” the maester said warmly. He held up the squirming child. “It appears she takes after her mother.”

She could see a shock of matted red hair and Celia smiled. The maester took the girl away to clean her. As a few midwives helped with the Afterbirth, Avari began to pat Celia’s brow with a cool cloth. She began to hum an Naathian tune as she did so. 

“You did so well, Ce,” she whispered.

Celia liked when her friend referred to her by her nickname. She never did so in public when Lord Tywin might hear her, but she called her that in private. 

“Ari, did she look well?”

“Healthy as any babe I have seen,” her friend assured. 

“Here you are, my lady.” The maester placed the girl in her arms. 

Celia marveled at the tiny thing. Her daughter squirmed slightly until she found a more acceptable position. “She’s beautiful,” Celia whispered. “My little Sansa.”

“May the gods bless her,” Avari said looking down at the child. “She’ll have everyone wrapped around her little finger within a minute of meeting her.”

Celia smiled, bringing her nose down to nuzzle the top of her daughter’s head. “You and Arthur make this all worth it, sweetling.” She kissed Sansa’s drying curls. “You and Arthur.”

“I believe our little lord wishes to see his new sibling,” Tywin said as he enters the room. He was holding Arthur in his arms. 

“Mama,” her son said, reaching for her and Celia felt her heart swell. 

Avari took Arthur from Lord Tywin’s arms and sat him next to Celia. Her son leaned against her shoulder and peered down at his baby sister. 

“Her name is Sansa,” Celia said, shifting her arms slightly so that her good father might have a better look at his granddaughter. 

The Lannister patriarch smiled down at the baby. She blinked up at her grandfather, her green eyes twinkling slightly. 

“May I hold her?”

“Of course,” Celia replied. 

Avari got swaddling cloth to wrap little Sansa in before handing the baby to Tywin. 

Celia had found that her good father was rather fond of children. He doted on Arthur and she believed Avari was correct in saying Sansa would have everyone wrapped around her little finger soon. 

Tywin looked at her. “I am sorry that my son was not here.”

Celia looked down and put her arm around Arthur, pulling him close to her side. “He made a promise to Cersei, I understand.”

“My son does not need to return to King’s Landing as often as he has been. I will keep him here for a time when he returns. If he wishes to go to King’s Landing, he will have to wait until Sansa here is old enough to travel.”

Celia smiled. “Thank you.”

Tywin nodded. “He needs to begin taking an interest in his heir. And he has two children to think about now. The king can focus on his own children. Jaime should worry about his own.”

Celia took back Sansa into her arms. “Look, Arthur,” she whispered to her son. “Your baby sister.”

Her son touched his sister’s hand and she wrapped her fist around his finger, causing the boy to giggle. 

Yes. He and Sansa made everything worth it. 

—

“She’s resting,” Celia heard Avari’s voice through the door of her new room. 

“If she were, she would be in our rooms,” she heard her husband’s irritated tone. 

Celia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s alright, Avari,” she called. “Let him in.”

Although she couldn’t see her friend’s expression, Celia could guess it was not a pleased one. The door opened and her husband came it. He paused when the door closed behind him. His cheeks turned an awkward shade of pink. 

Once Celia thought about it, she didn’t think her husband had ever seen her breasts bare before, much less her nursing a child upon them. However, Celia would not be embarrassed. She was doing something completely natural. 

“Do you need something, Ser Jaime?” she asked innocently. 

He blinked and then coughed, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “Our daughter?”

“Is healthy.” As though she knew her mother’s attention was not solely on her, Sansa scratched at Celia’s chest, her nails grazing against the soft swelling of her breast. “And hungry.”

“I’m sorry,” her husband said quickly. “For not being here in time. I came as soon as Cersei had her son and rode here as quickly as I could.”

Celia watched him for a moment before turning her attention back to her daughter. “You’ve made your priorities known,” Celia replied. “I know I could never understand the bond between twins, the concept is too foreign for me. However, I do know what the bond between a father and their child should be.”

Her husband was quiet for a moment. “Why have you moved rooms?”

“I moved a little while after you left for King’s Landing.” She turned to him then. “I will always be your wife, Ser Jaime. However, you have not afforded me the courtesy most husbands do.” She turned back to her daughter who had finished nursing. Celia adjusted her shift and held her daughter to her chest to rock and burp her. “I know we were not a love match. But I thought perhaps we were friends, that you cared even a little. I don’t begrudge you for missing Arthur, there was a rebellion to finish. But you missed our daughter’s birth. Our first daughter. The first child who could have meant our marriage meant more to you than a way to escape the Night Watch or death.” She looked up to him. “From this moment on, I will no longer share your bed, Ser Jaime. I won’t deny you your marital rights, for they had been better recently, however you must come here to fulfill them, should you wish to take them.”

“My lady—”

“I will _ honor _ you in every way and be a _ dutiful _ wife to you. I will be a mother to our children, our _ family _. However, I cannot give you my heart when it has yet to be deserved. Not again. That… that you must earn, Ser Jaime. I am tired of being the only one making an effort.” Sansa finally burped. “You should settle back in your own rooms, Ser Jaime. Sansa, that is her name, by the way, needs to settle in for her nap.” 

She carried her daughter to the cradle near by and placed her there, ignoring her husband all together, trying to show how little his disinterest hurt her. Even if it was a lie. 

—

_ Dear Ce, _

_ Congratulations on little Sansa. It appears the gods have blessed us both with daughters. My little Arya takes after Ned (he has insisted I call him this). When he first held her, he cried. Although he is a very quiet man, I have found that my husband has such deep wells of emotion, I might never know its true depths. _

_ I pray that there will come a time where all of us might meet in Riverrun to introduce our children to their cousins. _

_ I know Robb and Jon would be pleased to meet Arthur at last. I have spoken to them of him and I believe they already know themselves to be friends. _

_ How have you been otherwise? I know you are settling in well at Casterly Rock. Is it as different from Riverrun as Winterfell is. I must confess I miss swimming. There is a hot spring here, but it is not the same. _

_ I miss you, Celia. I miss Lysa as well. I miss the days before the rebellion when relative peace reigned. I miss you. _

_ Ned sends his regards and says he shall pray to the old gods to bless your daughter with good health. He tells me that the Northmen value their daughters greatly. _

_ I hope to hear from you soon! _

_ Your loving sister, _

_ Cat _

—

While Sansa was down for her nap and Avari was spending time with her parents, Celia spent time with her son. At two, her son was beginning to run. He understood that his mama was very tired because of the baby, however he would forget and run about like a wildling. Even so, Celia adored these moments with her son. Everyone in the keep loved the boy. He was still friendly and waved at everyone he saw. He was even starting to call them by name, even if they were muddled with someone else's occasionally. He called the two gardeners by the wrong name, however they took the confusion with grace, often referring to each other by their own names. Celia has tried to encourage them to correct her son, but the two had just laughed and said it was the most harmless joke they could play on the little lordling. 

Celia knelt down and picked her son up into her arms. She swung him slightly as he collected himself. Arthur giggled as she sprinkled kisses across his face. 

“Mama!” he squealed. 

Celia giggled and set her son back down on the ground. “Shall we play hide-and-seek?” 

Her son clapped his hands. “I wanna play!”

Celia smiled. “Okay, but only in this garden, no wandering off into the keep.”

“May I join?” 

Celia looked up and saw her husband standing awkwardly at the garden entrance. Their son looked up at his father and quickly hid behind Celia’s skirt. Her heart broke slightly at her husband’s pained expression. She knelt down and put her hand on Arthur’s back. “It’s just your papa, sweetling,” she said gently. “Do you remember me talking about your papa? He had to go away for a bit, but now he’s back.”

Arthur peered at his father with curious eyes, although he still looked unsure. 

Celia pressed a kiss to her son’s cheek. “Papa really wants to play with you,” she encouraged. “But I don’t think he knows how to play hide-and-seek.” She glanced at her husband. “How about you show him how to play, and I come find you?”

Slowly her son nodded. Arthur hesitantly walked over to his father. Celia watched as he lifted his arms, requesting to be lifted. Slowly, her husband did so, picking up their son and holding him in his arms.

Arthur cupped his hands around his mouth and gave a loud whisper. “We hide now, Papa.”

Her husband smiled slightly. “Show me where.” He glanced around Celia and mouthed something to her. _ Thank you. _

—

Celia awoke to someone murmuring in her room. She opened her eyes slightly and saw her husband standing near her bed. He held Sansa in his arms, rocking the fussing girl in his arms. 

“We need to let your mother rest, sweetling,” he said gently. “She works so very hard taking care of you and your big brother.”

Celia watched as he continued to be oblivious to her wakefulness. Her husband continued to rock their daughter gently, as though her were made for such a thing. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came into this world, sweetling. It can be scary, can’t it. Your mother worked really hard.” He bent down and kissed their daughter’s red curls. “Shall we try and take care of your mother, sweetling? We don’t want her to overwork.”

Celia smiled and closed her eyes.

Her anger would be so much easier if her husband were not so easy to love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa was born! Yay!!!  
What did you think of Celia’s move and her slight tongue lashing to Jaime? It will be worse when she learns the truth.  
What did you think of Cat’s letter?  
Arthur being nervous around his father?  
Jaime trying to be a dad?


	7. Jaime IV

He felt so out of place in his own home. Although he knew that it would never be said aloud, he felt the judgment of all the servants. They preferred to go to his wife or his father when they had questions or sought approval for matters concerning the keep. They seemed to know how to get Sansa to stop crying. They all seemed to know what to do to get Arthur to laugh. He felt a pang of jealousy that his son felt more at ease around them than he did his own father. 

“He doesn’t know you, Ser Jaime,” his wife said gently when he had brought the situation to her attention. “He has been surrounded by these people since he was born, save for that month in King’s Landing for the wedding.” She put a hand on his arm. 

“He looks at me as though I were the Stranger.”

“You  _ are  _ a stranger. He understands that you are his father, but he doesn’t not know you. I swear, once you spend more time with him, he will be perfectly at ease around you. He isn’t frightened of you, Ser, he is merely cautious. The only person he fears here is the Mountain.”

Jaime froze at the mention of the knight. “Has he been near our son enough to cause fear?” His heart thudded in his chest.  _ His hands still red when he dropped the bodies of the two children onto the throne room floor. Dark curls matted with blood, silver hair stained red.  _ “Near Sansa?”

“No,” she said softly. “I don’t trust him near the children and Arthur is too young to be anywhere near where your father’s knights frequent. But your father took him to view the horses and the Mountain was there. He had so many nightmares.”

Jaime shuddered.  _ Elia pinching his cheek as he tried to stand tall next to Arthur Dayne. Her laughter as the little princess climbed up his leg. Blood stained on the Mountain’s trousers.  _ “Has be been near you?”

She let go of his arm and looked away. “It’s my duty as the lady of the keep to be mindful of all that goes on here.”

Jaime stepped closer, putting his hand in the crook of her arm. “Has he been near you?”

“I take Vylarr with me when I must go there.”

“He’s barely a knight,” Jaime said, hating to think of his wife near the monstrous knight with only the Essosi man to protect her.

“He’s a good man,” she urged. “I trust him with my life, with our children’s lives”

Something twinged in annoyance at her comment. The idea that Celia felt more protected by someone else—

“I will ask my father to send him away,” he offered. 

Celia shook her head. “I can take the discomfort of the man’s presence. It is better that he is here where he may do no harm than roaming about where he could hurt someone else. Besides, I am a Lannister now. He would not hurt me.”

Jaime felt his stomach twist. Was that all that protected her in this place? The Lannister name?

“If you cannot bear it anymore, please tell me and I will do something about it.”

Celia smiled up at him through her lashes. As you wish, Ser Jaime.”

—

_ My dearest Jaime, _

_ I was pleased to hear that your little fish gave birth to a daughter. I was only slightly disappointed when I learned that she took after her mother. However, considering she is a Tully and a Whent while you and I are both true Lannisters, I shall not hold her appearance against your daughter. Since she and Joffrey are of the same age, perhaps you might be able to convince your wife that a betrothal would be wise. _

_ Think on it, Jaime.  _

_ Ever yours, _

_ Cersei _

He ignored most of the letter when he wrote back to his sister. He barely knew his daughter or Joffrey and couldn’t imagine a betrothal. Besides, they may fall in love someday, and not to each other. A forced marriage would do nothing. Was that not what got Cersei in her own situation?  _ Dearest Cersei, _

_ I believe a betrothal is too soon. Our son and my daughter haven’t even begun their first year of life. Let them grow up as we were not able to. Besides, perhaps they will fall in love with someone else. We shouldn’t— _

Jaime paused in his writing to Cersei when he heard the door to his study open and then close. He looked up and saw his son looking around the room. 

“Arthur.” His son looked up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Hide-and-seek, Papa.”

“Arthur!” He heard Avari’s voice ring from the hall. 

“Need to hide now, Papa!”

Jaime motioned for his son to come closer. The boy did hesitantly. Even if he called Jaime his father, he still didn’t seem to trust him and that hurt more than Jaime cared to think about at the moment. “Hide behind my desk. Avari won’t know you’re here.”

Arthur’s lips spread into a grin that reminded Jaime a little of Tyrion when he was younger. His son came behind the desk and sat down with his knees drawn to his chest. Jaime figured hiding in such a good spot might bore his son a little so he slipped down a piece of paper and a pencil for him to draw with. He waited until his son began to draw before turning his attention back to his letter to Cersei.

Something painful gurgled in his chest and he felt it between his son and the letters. Jaime stuffed the two pieces of paper into a drawer and began working on a list of things he had to go over during the course of the week. It wasn’t as grand as being a kingsguard, but there was something peaceful about it. He didn’t have to worry about much. Oh, there were things to worry about, but nothing like what he had serving under Aerys. 

_ Please, take me with you, my prince.  _

_ No, Jaime, stay with my wife and children. Look after them.  _

_ They were just casualties, Jaime.  _

_ But Father, they were innocent— _

Jaime ground his teeth together and looked at his son. No one would ever hurt him or his daughter. No one. He would tear Westeros apart before he would let that happen. 

“Arthur, where are you?” Avari opened his study door and frowned when she saw him. 

Jaime was rather annoyed at his wife’s friend’s obvious dislike for him, but he was well aware that he had done little to change her opinion. “Hello, Lady Avari,” he said calmly. “Did you need something?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m looking for Arthur.”

His son giggled from his spot behind the desk. It was obvious that Avari had heard him. 

“I haven’t seen my son since my wife and I broke our fast in her solar. I would suggest seeing if he is with Tyrion or my father.”

Arthur giggled again. 

Jaime raised an eyebrow at Avari, daring her to reveal that she knew where his son was. 

She sniffed and said, a little more loudly than necessary. “I suppose I shall check with Lord Tyrion then.” She turned and left the study. 

Once the door closed, Arthur’s giggles grew louder. 

“I hid, Papa!”

Jaime smiled down at his son and ruffled his curls. “You did! Good job, Arthur.” 

His son puffed up his chest in pride. He then attempted to see what Jaime had on his desk. “What you doing, Papa?”

“Scheduling things I have to do this week.”

“To help Mama?”

“Yes, to help your mother.”

“Wanna help!”

Jaime wasn’t sure how his son would be able to help, but let Arthur crawl onto his lap. He pulled them both closer to the desk and Jaime gave his son another pencil. The boy couldn’t write yet, however he seemed to have the continuous  _ m  _ down, although that might have been stretching it. Even so, his plans for the week was soon covered in scribbles and little pictures of flowers.

Soon enough, Arthur began to grow tired. His son wrapped his arms around Jaime’s neck and buried his face there. Jaime cupped his son’s bottom with one hand and continued to write with the other. 

Once he was finished, he carried his son back to the nursery and laid him down in his bed. He informed one of the servants of where his son was and requested that Lady Avari and his wife he told. He then went to his father to tell him some of the ideas he had for the keep. 

—

Jaime had made it a habit to get up early and rock his daughter while his wife was still sleeping. Sometimes he thought Celia was still awake, but he could have been imagining it. He was too focused on his daughter to truly think about it, though. 

Sansa was gurgling in his arms sucking on one of his fingers. She didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t feeding her, so he knew he wouldn’t have to wake Celia at the moment. His daughter had her fist curled around his thumb and he couldn’t imagine anyone being so tiny. The maester had said that she was born early, but Jaime could not imagine her being much smaller. 

She had Celia’s hair and nose while she had his eyes and chin. When he had her in his arms, she felt like his entire world. 

Sansa yawned, her mouth forming a little  _ o  _ as she wiggled into a more comfortable position. Jaime smiles down at her. She was so innocent.  _ Rhaenys placing a crown of flowers in his hair. Her asking him to marry her when she was big.  _

Jaime closed his eyes and pushed away the pain. He pulled his daughter up slightly and bent his head, pressing a kiss to her head. His daughter would live the life the little princess should have. The gods owed him this at least.

At the very least.

—

He missed having Celia in his bed. It wasn’t even the coupling he missed. He simply missed having her beside him. He missed the constant hum of her breath as she curled in on herself. He missed the way her cold feet pressed against his shins in the middle of the night. He missed the way her hair ticked his nose and lips whenever he woke up before she did. 

He just missed her. 

She was still kind and gentle and everything she had been before, but there was a distance between them. While she didn’t recoil from his touch, she did not seek it out. While she did not keep him away from their children, it felt as though she was a separate parent from him. While she told him she was still his wife, she felt like a stranger to him. 

He missed her. 

He missed the way her nose scrunched up when she smiled at him. He missed the way she used to lean into his touch. He missed the way she had pressed his hand to her belly whenever Sansa kicked.

Gods, he missed her. 

—

“Ser Jaime!” Celia screamed as fire consumed her. Sansa was crying in her arms. 

“Papa! Save us!” Arthur cried out as he clung to his mother’s skirts. 

“No!” A roar ripped from Jaime’s throat as he tried to launch himself towards them, but some force, some chain held him back. 

“Ser Jaime! Jaime, please!”

“Papa!”

“Celia!” He tried reaching for her. “Arthur, Sansa, hold on! Papa’s coming!”

Celia screams echoed in his head as she pulled the children closer to her, trying to shield them from the green flames. 

“Celia!” He screamed. “Celia!”

“What about me, Jaime?” He turned and saw Cersei standing behind him. She held a scowling Joffrey in her arms. “What about us?”

“Jaime!” 

He turned and again tried to get to his wife and children, but he was being dragged back. 

“What about  _ me _ ?”

“No!”

“Ser Jaime?” Celia’s calm voice broke him from the force holding him back and he shot up from his bed. 

Jaime tried to catch his breath but found that he could not even breathe. He began to choke and wrapped his hand around his throat. 

“Breathe, Ser Jaime,” Celia whispered beside him. She rubbed circles into his back. “Breathe with me.” She pulled his hand over her chest and she took deep calming breaths, placing her now free hand over his own chest. “Breathe.”

Jaime gasped as air began to flood his lungs. 

“It’s okay,” Celia said gently. “It’s okay. You’re safe. We’re all safe.”

Jaime wrapped his arms around his wife and held her to him. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t close enough. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. He began to kiss her neck, feeling her pulse beneath his lips. They slid down to the swell of her breast—

Celia cupped his cheek in her hand and forced his mouth away from her skin. She rubbed her thumb along his cheek and Jaime realized he was crying. “Not like this, Ser Jaime. Not like this.” She kissed his brow and pressed her forehead to his. “Just sleep. I’ll be right here.”

She helped settle him back into his bed. She shifted so that she might be under him. He was cradled between her thighs as he rested over her. His head rested against her, pillowed by her breasts. He could smell the faint scent of milk and Sansa there. Her fingers began to run gently through his hair, her nails grazing gently against his scalp.

Celia began to hum, the sound rumbled in her chest against his ear. Jaime closed his eyes and let sleep take him as his wife’s warmth began to seep into his very bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of Jaime’s conversation about the Mountain with Celia?  
What did you think of Jaime’s interaction with Arthur?  
Him rocking Sansa to sleep?  
Him missing Celia?  
His nightmare and how Celia handled his initial reaction to coming out of it?  
What did you think of Jaime’s inner thoughts about Elia and her children?


	8. Celia IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated some of the tags. Please know that Dany will serve as an antagonist. She won’t like Jaime (for obvious reasons) And will dislike Celia and Sansa as well as Jaimia’s other children. Sorry for not tagging that initially. I understand if some people might not want to continue this fic because of that!

Celia felt her husband’s breathing even out as his hot breath against her breast began to deepen. She felt the rise and fall of his chest against her belly and knew that her husband had finally fallen asleep. Even so, she continued to run her fingers through his hair, her heart aching for the man cradled into her body. 

He was a broken man, she had realized that soon into their marriage. She also knew him to be a good man and good men often found themselves at odds with the world around him. She knew he felt guilt for what happened to Princess Elia and her children. She could see it in his eyes when he held their children. A shadow would cross his face and he would seemingly hold their children tighter. She saw it in her mentions of the Mountain. She could hear it in the nightmares. 

She knew not what he had dreamed of to cause him to scream. Had she not already been awake, he might have woken the whole household.

Celia looked down at her husband as he slept above her. He looked so young when he slept. She knew her husband was only twenty-two, but sometimes he looked so much older when he was awake and the weight of the world seemed to bear down on his shoulders.

She wished he would share the burden with her. 

She wished he could see the man she saw, the man who, after seeing the horrors humanity could do, still offered a girl he did not know, comfort with the simple act of offering a handkerchief. 

She wished he could see the man she loved. 

—

They celebrated Arthur’s third birthday. 

Lord Tywin held a small feast, per Celia’s request. Her good father had wanted to have a large feast, but she wished for the party to be a household affair. In a way, it was so that her husband could focus more on their son instead of entertaining guests. 

He had gone back very briefly to King’s Landing. Unlike before, Celia had encouraged him to go as quickly as possible. Cersei has written her brother a letter that Prince Joffrey was ill and she was worried and afraid. Celia could not imagine the pain her good sister was going through and encouraged her husband to be with her in her time of need. She would want Cat or Edmure or even Lysa to be by her side if she either of her own children were gravely ill. 

He had returned a fortnight ago, telling her that the little prince was well and Cersei in higher spirits than when he had come. There had been a strange look in his eye when she had told him she was glad he could be there for his sister in her time of need, but she supposed it may have been due to how tired he was from traveling. 

Now, Ser Jaime carried their son around for a majority of the day, Arthur resting on his hip as they took a turn around the room. Celia watched the two interact and it reminded her of her father when her brother was young. 

“My brother has seemed to finally take to fatherhood,” Tyrion said beside her. 

Celia smiled to her good brother. “I had fears, but he has taken to it like a fish in water in some ways.”

“Have you resumed your marital relationship yet?”

Celia blushed. “Tyrion.”

“What? Can’t I ask?”

“No,” Ser Jaime said as he neared them. “You cannot.” He looked to Celia then. “My lady.”

She smiled at him. Celia stepped to her husband and soon and held her son’s reaching hands and placed a kiss on his nose. “How is my favorite boy doing?” she asked as her son began giggling.

“It appears you are second, Jaime,” Tyrion joked. “Although I must admit, I probably prefer my nephew to you as well. He has yet to pass me in height quite yet.”

“Within the year, Tyrion,” Ser Jaime replied. “Then I’m sure you will go back to preferring me just slightly more.”

Tyrion scoffed and then made his way to the servant offering people wine. 

“I have missed you,” her husband said quietly when his brother had left them. 

“I have been right here, Ser,” she replied, although she knew it was not what he meant. 

His eyes darkened and Celia felt a shiver run up her spine. He leaned forward and held his lips near her ear. “Let me come to your bed tonight.”

Celia closed her eyes. “It has always been open to you, Ser. Always. I apologize if I made you feel unwelcome.”

Her husband leaned away from her and resettled Arthur on his hip. “You have never made me feel unwelcome, I have simply missed you more than I thought possible.”

She smiled. “Can we be friends, Ser Jaime?”

He looked at her carefully, tilting his head only slightly. “I do not think friends ask for what I have.”

“No, but you are my husband.” _ And I love you. _“And I am your wife. Cannot spouses be friends?”

“They can be, although, I fear I am not worthy of your friendship, my lady.”

“It’s not about being worthy, Ser Jaime.” She got on her toes and kissed her husband’s cheek. “My friendship is freely given.”

—

“Is this alright, my lady?”

“_Yes_,” she breathed as she lifted her head back and against her husband’s shoulder. 

Her back was pressed against his chest, once again they had fallen into bed partially clothed. She wished that there were nothing between them, but she simply believed it to be how her husband preferred things. One of his hands held onto her hip tightly, but not enough to leave bruises. His other hand was over hers, their fingers interlocked. 

He was fully sheathed inside her and she felt so _ full. _She was stretched around him and Celia already felt so very close to a release. It had been so very long. 

Ser Jaime began to move, drawing his hips back and trusting forward, until he set a slow and steady pace. Gods, she had missed this, missed her husband coming apart above her as he let himself go for only a few moments, the Ser Jaime only she knew. Her heart swelled as she felt his lips against the back of her neck, against her shoulder. He murmured softly against her skin, his breath hot against it. Licking at her like fire. 

Celia lifted the interwoven hands and brought them to her chest. She moved her hand to cup his own and brought it to her breast and squeezed, letting him feel the weight of it. Letting him feel how they had changed, how heavy they were now as she still suckled their daughter. 

Ser Jaime groaned behind her. His hand began to squeeze her breast in earnest and she knew he could feel her leaking between his fingers. His thrusts became sharper. 

“Yes,” his voice was rough and Celia quivered beneath him. “_Yes_!” His hips began to snap against her and he gripped her hip a little harder, but not enough to bruise, pulling her hard against him. 

Celia cried out and dropped her hand that covered his and reached out for the headboard of their bed, trying to find purchase as his thrusts began to slap it against the wall. 

“Perfect,” Jaime grunted. “So perfect—”

She screamed as he found that sensitive part inside her and the coil that had tightened in her belly released as he found it again and again and again. 

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “That’s it.”

Celia let her head fall into her pillow as he continued his thrusts until he sheathed himself far inside her. Then she felt him spill inside her and she cried out once more. He began to rut into her through his release, squeezing her breast slightly as he did so. 

He stilled inside her and buried his face into the curve of her neck, his breath fanning out against her. His lips slid against her skin and he began to suck gently against her pulse point.

Celia lifted her head back and rested it against his shoulder. She let go of the headboard and reached behind her and ran her fingers through his hair.

They stayed like that until she felt him go soft within her. He pulled himself out of her and helped ease her to her side. He reached out for a damp cloth and began to clean between her legs before cleaning himself. When he was finished, he laid on his back, breathing deeply, his eyes closed. 

Celia curled into him, resting her head against his chest. “I missed you,” she whispered, rubbing her hand across her stomach. 

“I’m right here, my lady,” he said, wrapping his arm around her. “Right here.”

—

The news of the queen’s second pregnancy brought joy to the entire household. Jaime was more pensive, as he had been the last time. Celia supposed it would be the same to any brother who had a pregnant sister. She was certain she would feel the same when Edmure got married and had a babe of his own. The thought brought a different emotion than when Cat had wrote to her of her own pregnancy with Arya. 

“We should go to King’s Landing,” she said to her good father. “I was unable to travel the last time due to my pregnancy with Sansa, but we should go be with Cersei. Besides, she has yet to meet Sansa and I’m certain Arthur would enjoy getting to know his Aunt Cersei. It would be a way for both to get to know their cousin Joffrey.”

Tywin smiled. “A wonderful idea, my dear. I have business I must attend to in the capital anyway. We shall make a trip of it.”

Ser Jaime shifted nervously beside her. Celia put her hand over his. “Sansa is old enough to travel now and perhaps she might have her first nameday while we are there. We would also be with the little prince for his first as well.”

Her husband nodded, but said nothing. The strange look returning to his eyes. 

—

Celia held her daughter as Ser Jaime helped her from the carriage. He helped Arthur down as well. Their son quickly grabbed his mother’s free hand as they approached the royal party. 

The king had grown stouter since Celia had last saw him. He was still handsome, but not as he had been four years ago. “Kinglsayer!” Robert Baratheon shouted. Celia stiffened at the title as the king embraced her husband. “It’s good to see you, perhaps you can whip some of the newer knights into shape while you’re here.”

Her husband’s lips formed a firm line. “I will endeavor to try.”

The king turned his attention to her son. “And you must be little Arthur,” he said, his voice a little softer than it had been when addressing Ser Jaime. The king knelt down to get a better look at the boy. Arthur peered at him from around his mother’s hand. “Last I saw you, you could fit in the palm of my hands.”

“Hello, your grace,” Arthur said, politely, just as they had practiced in the carriage. 

“Call me Uncle Robert, boy,” he said kindly. “I’ve yet to have a nephew, so that already makes you my favorite.”

Celia smiled at the grin her son gave the king. Robert stood and smiled at her before turning his gaze to Sansa. 

“And I suppose she shall be my niece until I have to start a ranking,” he said with a glint in his blue eyes. 

“This is Sansa, your grace.”

“Call me Robert, my lady, I shall be hurt that Ned can call you such and I can’t.”

“I’ve known Eddard since I was a child, your grace.”

“Ah yes,” the king chuckled. “I still remember him getting letters from you in the Vale asking all that you could about Brandon to make sure he was right for _ your Cat _as you put it.”

Celia blushed. “Well, I had to make sure he was worthy of her and I felt like the man himself might put on airs.”

The king laughed. “I believe we shall be good friends, my lady.”

Celia smiled and turned to the queen as the king began to greet his good father. “Your grace, it is so good to see you.” She glanced at Cersei’s large belly. “I am sure you will be ready for the little prince or princess to make their appearance soon.”

The queen sighed. “Yes, although this child appears more calm than Joff was.”

Celia looked down at the little prince in Cersei’s arms. “Oh, he is adorable! He reminds me of Arthur at that age. It’s hard to believe he is three now.” She looked back to Cersei. “You blink and suddenly they’re ready to pick up wooden swords and running about a keep.” She turned to her good father and the king. “Shall we go inside so my good sister may sit down, I am sure her ankles will thank us.”

Cersei’s lips spread into a slow smile. “That they would.”

“Come along then,” the king motioned. “I’ll leave you to rest before the midday meal. I don’t doubt you’re all tired and the little lady would no doubt like to have a bed to settle herself into.”

With that, they followed the king into the Red Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of Celia’s thoughts?  
Arthur turned three but just before Jaime went to King’s Landing! 😱  
What did you think of their intimate moment?  
Myrcella is coming! 😨  
What did you think of Robert? And little Celia writing to Ned because she wanted to know if Brandon was worthy of her sister?


	9. Jaime V

“Your wife seems happy,” Cersei said when he entered her chambers. 

Celia had sent him off to spend time with his sister as she settled the children into their rooms. It was the first time they had traveled with both and the first time Arthur could remember ever leaving Casterly Rock. Arthur has waved goodbye and told his Aunt Cersei the same. His sister had given the boy a tight smile in return. 

“She is always happy,” Jaime answered carefully as he looked around his sister’s rooms. He hated thinking of his wife when he was with Cersei. It felt wrong. To whom, he did not know.

“Have you been sleeping with her?”

Jaime did not look at her. “Rarely,” he admitted. “When I miss you.”  _ When I miss her.  _ “I don’t finish inside her though.” A lie, but he would not share that with Cersei. “Sometimes I do so to appease her.”

Cersei took his hand and he turned to look at her. She placed it over her large belly, far larger than she had been last time. “As long as you remember your true children and the promise you made me.”

He thought of Arthur and Sansa. “I still remember.” He rubbed his thumb along the fabric. “How are you? Is this pregnancy any easier?”

“I’m well,” Cersei sighed before heading to her chair to sit. “As well as any woman can be when she is so late in her pregnancy. I sometimes wish confinement was still in fashion, but then I would not see you.”

Jaime sat next to her. “I’m sorry I can’t be by your side at all times. I’m sorry that I have to leave you here alone.” He thought of the split lip he had seen her sport the last time he had visited. “I’m sorry that I cannot stay and protect you.”

“As long as I know I have all of your heart, I can remain satisfied,” she said, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. 

“I have always loved you, Cersei.” Jaime took her hand in his. 

It was true. She was the one constant in his life, the one thing that had remained with him since birth. The one who knew him truly. The one who saw who and what he was. 

“Do you love your little fish?” she asked, squeezing his hand tightly. 

_ Celia moaning underneath him as made certain she found pleasure first. Celia scolding Jaime and Arthur both for tracking mud into their suites after they played in the gardens. Celia’s nose scrunching up as she laughed at his disastrous and messy attempt at bathing Sansa. Celia resting her head against his chest as she told him he was a good man.  _

“No,” he replied. “Only you.”

His heart twisted at the words. 

—

Celia woke Jaime up that night with a painful sob escaping her throat. He scooted over and pulled his wife into his arms. She clung to his shirt and buried her face into his chest and he felt the hot tears seeping through the fabric. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “It’s okay.” Jaime rubbed her back as well in slow, smoothing circles. “Did you dream of Aerys again?”

She shook her head. “The children…”

Jaime frowned. “Arthur and Sansa are fine.”

“No,” she shook her head again in frustration. “Rhaenys and Aegon.” Her voice broke. “I keep seeing them. Their broken bodies.” She choked back another sob as she pressed her face harder into his chest. 

“My lady.”

“I should have gotten them out,” she moaned. “When Father had me smuggled from King’s Landing, I should have insisted we go back for them.” She sounded so small. “I’m so selfish.”

Jamie cupped his wife’s face in his hands. “My lady, you are the kindest person I know, save perhaps Arthur.” Her lips spread into a tearful smile. “You are the least selfish person I have ever had the honor of knowing.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened.” Jaime closed his eyes. “Prince Rhaegar charged me with looking after Princess Elia and their children. Am I to blame for their deaths too if you claim you are?”

He was. It  _ was _ his fault. He should have done more. He should have done more. 

“You are  _ not  _ at fault, Ser Jaime.” His wife’s voice was rough with emotion. “It was not your fault.”

“And yet you blame yourself,” he replied. He rubbed his thumb across her cheek and wiped away the tears. “My lady, you are not to blame.”

“I could have saved them.”

“Many could have,” Jaime replied. “But all were afraid of the Mad King.”

“Not you,” she said softly. 

She looked at him as though he were some hero. Her faith in him frightened Jaime to his core. 

“I was terrified,” he said honestly. “Terrified of what he would do to my father. To the people of King’s Landing. I was so very afraid.”

“But, in the end, you killed him.”

“Yes, and I was punished for it.”

She looked away from him and his stomach dropped when he realized what that sounded like. 

“You are not a punishment, my lady,” he said quickly. “Not at all. It is a punishment to be married to me, in truth. For who would love a kingslayer?”

“And what a king he was,” she told him. “Jaime, you  _ saved  _ King’s Landing. You killed a  _ monster _ , a dragon in a king’s cloak, a story people tell their children to frighten them.” She held his face in her hands. “You’re a  _ good  _ man, Jaime Lannister. Maybe not the best knight or kingsguard, but a good man. A good father. A good husband.”

He wanted to bury himself inside her. Let himself be the man she saw him as for only a moment. He knew it would be utter bliss if he were able. “I’m not a good husband.”

She smiled up at him sadly. “You are,” she said. “You don’t force yourself on me. You don’t frighten me. You love our children and you care for me. Many have so much worse.”

“Sometimes I wonder why the gods brought me to you,” he whispered. “How I could possibly deserve you.”  _ Why you deserve to be with a man who cannot give you his whole heart _ . 

“No one deserves anyone, Jaime,” she said. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that,” he said quickly. “I’m not the man you think I am.”

“That’s not the point. Who I think you are, is a man you can be. Who you think I am, is the woman I want to be. It’s not about deserving anyone, Jaime. It’s about deserving ourselves and being able to live with it.”

“Celia…”

She smiled up at him. “I forgot my nightmare for a moment, if that was your intention.”

Jaime huffed a laugh. 

“Could… could we bring the children to bed?” she asked. “Could they sleep with us for the rest of the night?”

“Of course.”

Jaime and Celia went to the nursery. He picked their son up from his bed and she took Sansa from her crib. They went back to their rooms, holding hands. When they returned to bed, Jaime and his wife settled the children between them. They were small enough that Jaime could hold three of them loosely under his arm. 

“Goodnight, Ser Jaime,” she said softly. 

“Jaime,” he replied. “Just Jaime. Goodnight, Celia.”

She smiled at him. “Goodnight.”

—

They were able to quickly settle the children into a routine. More often than not, Celia carried Sansa wherever they went, but Arthur needed things to actually do. Jaime spent a majority of his time entertaining his son when he wasn’t with Cersei. Robert seemed to find some enjoyment in looking after the boy too. 

“I’ve never really been around children, not since the rebellion,” Robert admitted one day when Jaime rocked Arthur to sleep after he had scraped his knee playing. “I… I have a daughter named Mya.”

Jaime froze in his rocking. He looked up at the king and he could tell the man was uncomfortable. The knowledge that Robert had a bastard daughter wasn’t really news, but Jaime had always thought it might be rumors.

“Her mother and I… I was a green boy, in truth, and she was kind and I thought myself in love with her. Then we had Mya and things just changed. Jon never approved.” He looked at Arthur sadly. “I would travel down almost every day to see her. She was my child, my first.” Robert sighed and ran his fingers through his hair and sat down. “When I became king, I wanted to bring her here. Her mother had died of a chill and I was her father. Jon said I was to marry your sister and what woman would want me if I brought a bastard girl to our home. It’s why Lyanna didn’t like our engagement. So, I had to let her go.”

Jaime imagined what he would do if Cersei asked him to let Arthur and Sansa go. He would never be able to do it. Even when his son was nervous around him, Jaime could never imagine letting his son go.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Jon doesn’t like me talking about her and you’re a father, so you might understand.”

Jaime’s heart twisted slightly. He sat down in the chair next to Robert’s. 

“I asked your sister if I could bring her here. She’s a sweet girl, from what I’m told. She’d do well here, I think. Gods, I don’t think she even knows who I am.” Robert huffed out a pained laugh.

“What did Cersei say?”

“She said that Mya would not be safe here.”

Jaime’s blood went cold. He held Arthur just a little more tightly. 

“And what did you decide to do?”

“To let her stay in the Vale, if that is the safest option.”

Jaime thought for a moment. “Let her foster with us.”

Robert’s gaze turned sharply to him. “What?”

“Let Celia and I foster her. Celia can take her on like she did with Lady Avari and raise her up as a companion to Sansa. I know she’s older than my daughter, but perhaps it might do well for both of them. Then she’d be under my protection.” And perhaps safe from Cersei’s threats. Gods, she threatened a child. What would she do to Celia if she knew he— “I’ll have to speak to my wife, of course, but I think she would find sense in it.”

The king eyes him warily. “And what would you want in exchange?”

“Never raise your hand towards my sister again.” Robert’s face paled. “And stop drinking and whoring.” Arthur nuzzled his face into Jaime’s neck. “I can’t foster all your baseborn children.”

It’s the least he could do, if Cersei never gave him any truborn ones. 

Robert swallowed. “I will try.”

—

“Of course we’ll take her in,” Celia said as they went to bed that night. “The girl deserves to be with family.”

“You would be willing to care for a bastard?” Jaime asked, shocked.

“A child should never be punished for their parents actions. A bastard didn’t ask to be born, just as none of us did.”

Jaime admired his wife’s viewpoint, then his thoughts turned to his own bastards. To Joffrey and his unborn child. 

“The girl deserves to be around family and the king, by law, is family.”

Jaime nodded. He wondered if she would think the same of Joffrey if she knew the truth. Knew that he had been unfaithful to her. That he had left her to have Sansa on her own while he was present for the birth of his second son, when he had missed his first. 

“Tell the king we will foster her at Casterly Rock. Send for her once we prepare to leave so she might arrive after we return home.”

Jaime nodded and laid down in their bed, a chaos of thoughts echoing in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Cersei’s jealous and Jaime is definitely depressing some feels.  
What did you think of Celia and Jaime’s conversation?  
Robert and Jaime’s? I decided to add Mya Stone so I was looking at her wiki and apparently Robert HAD been thinking about bringing one of his bastard daughters (although it is implied to be Mya) to King’s Landing and Cersei did threaten her and that was one of the times Robert slapped her. Not condoning anything, but wow. Forgot that had happened. So, yay! Sansa gets a friend/big sister in Mya Stone!  
And Celia is all about family so of course she says yes.   
Next chapter, Lysa makes an appearance and Littlefinger is mentioned.


	10. Celia V

“How are you, Lysa?” Celia asked. “It has been forever since you’ve written.”

“I’ve been well,” her older sister said stiffly. “And you?”

“Well,” Celia agreed. “Sansa and Arthur were able to come with Ser Jaime and I to King’s Landing. Would you like to see them?”

“No, thank you.”

Celia looked to her tea. She had always had a hard time spending time with Lysa. She had a much easier time relating to Cat. However, Lysa was her sister and family always comes first. 

“How is Lord Arryn? The Vale? I heard it’s quite beautiful.”

“Much prettier than the rock you have come to call home or the stones of ice that Cat has found herself in.”

Celia let herself continue to smile. “And Lord Arryn?”

“As old as father.”

Celia truly felt sorry for sister when it came to marriages. She had met Lord Arryn once on her wedding day and he had seemed kind, but not a man any girl her age would throw themselves at. She couldn’t understand why her father had arranged such a match or why Lord Arryn has even agreed to it. 

“I saw that Petyr was here.”

Lysa’s gaze shifted sharply to Celia. “What about Petyr?”

“Nothing, I just realized he was here. He’s the master of coin, is he not?”

Lysa sniffed. “He is.”

“Perhaps we should invite him to join us for tea at one point,” she offered. “He used to take part in our tea parties when we were girls. Gods, it’s been so long. All we would need is Cat and it would be like old times.”

Lysa sighed. “I suppose.”

Celia took a sip of her tea. “I’ve missed you, Lysa. We should write more often.”

“I have more important things to do than write a lord’s wife.”

“More important than you sister?”

“Of course.”

Celia nodded. “What do you think of the queen’s pregnancy?” she asked, changing the subject. “Do you think it a boy or a girl?”

“Would you not know better since you’re her good sister now?”

Celia smiled awkwardly. “I hope it’s a girl so Sansa might have a female cousin close in age on her father’s side. Cat wrote to tell me that her little Arya is positively wild.”

“Whatever you think.”

Celia nodded and continued to sip her tea. 

—

Her husband had begun to write little notes to her on the days he was too busy with the king or Arthur or Cersei. He would leave them on his pillow if he woke up before her or place them in her hand before he headed out if she woke up with him. 

They were usually just silly little things, but Celia treasured each and every one. 

_ Celia, _

_ I must confess that you do, in fact, snore. But pay no mind. I find I cannot sleep without it.  _

_ Your well rested husband, _

_ Jaime _

_ Celia, _

_ I have found a curious mark in Rhaella’s old garden that bears your initials. Did you carve them into the fountain there? _

_ Your curious husband, _

_ Jaime _

_ Celia, _

_ I have found that I miss the lemon cakes you would have our cook make. I had forgotten that the cook in the Red Keep can have rather boring food selections.  _

_ Your hungry husband, _

_ Jaime _

_ Dearest Celia, _

_ Your feet are cold and I suggest you wear socks to bed.  _

_ Your (not a foot warmer) husband, _

_ Jaime _

_ Celia, _

_ I beg that you save me from the upcoming hunt. I have no love of the sport but I feel as though I cannot deny the king his past time. Could you not feign some illness that we might simply spend the day in bed together? _

_ Your desperate husband, _

_ Jaime _

She knew they were just silly little things, but Celia treasured them. She tied them together with one of the ribbons he had bought for her when he was down in the market in Lannisport. She often wrote equally silly things to him if she knew she would be going to bed before him or knew she would be tending to the children whenever he got back. 

_ Jaime, _

_ I must also confess, Ser, that you hum in your sleep. It is the strangest thing, I assure you. The first time I learned of this habit, I shall also confess I pinched your nose to see if it would stop. However, you woke instead, and so I pretended to be asleep.  _

_ Your apologetic wife, _

_ Celia _

_ Jaime, _

_ It was me who carved my initials on the fountain. I was dared to do so by the queen herself because she believed it would be funny to whoever found it later. Although I am certain she meant centuries from that point in time.  _

_ Your guilty wife, _

_ Celia _

_ Jaime, _

_ I have given the cook of the Red Keep your favorite lemon cake recipe and have asked that he make a plate for you for our rooms. _

_ Your doting wife, _

_ Celia _

_ My dearest Jaime, _

_ No.  _

_ Your stubborn wife, _

_ Celia _

_ Jaime, _

_ Although spending the day with you in bed sounds delightful, I find that I cannot help you in the area of getting out of the hunt. I have already accepted an invitation from your sister for tea that day and I would rather not miss it. I fear you must somehow enjoy the hunt regardless.  _

_ Your unhelpful wife, _

_ Celia _

—

Although her husband was still going out on the hunt, he had been able to spend a few hours in the rather early morning bringing Celia to pleasure. They had never done their marital rights in the morning, but Celia found she enjoyed the slowness of it. The lazy drag of his hips behind her, the friction of the fabric between them, as his fingers fiddled between her legs.

She moaned softly.

They were both on their sides and her husband had never done this before. There was something so calm, so peaceful about it.

“Celia,” he grunted. “Ce—” Her name choked on his lips as he felt her release against his fingers. He rutted behind her more fervently until he shuddered and she felt a damp stickiness clinging to his pants and her shift. 

Jaime wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to his chest. Celia sighed, snuggling back into him. 

“You still have to go on the hunt,” she whispered. 

“Damn.”

She laughed. 

—

“Your grace,” Celia curtsied. 

Cersei smiles slowly. “Come in, little fish,” the queen said. “Please sit. It has been so long since it was just the two of us.”

Celia smiled and sat in the chair her good sister offered. “It truly has,” she agreed. “I do wish you could come visit Casterly Rock, although I know it won’t be for a while yet until the babe comes and is able to travel.”

Cersei smirked and rubbed her belly. “Yes.”

“Do you wish for a girl or another boy?”

“I suppose a girl would be nice,” the queen replied. 

“It is nice to have one of each.”

“And do you want  _ only _ one of each?” her good sister asked. 

Celia blushed. “I… well, I would feel happy with whatever the gods bless me with.”

Cersei seemed satisfied with that answer. “And how is our little dove? Sansa takes after you, but how is she?”

Celia smiled. In truth, she could speak of her children all day if she were allowed to. “She is a sweet girl. I think she has all Casterly Rock charmed now.”

The queen smiled. “I had a thought I would like to run by you,” she said. “If I may.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I have a son, you have a daughter. They are both close in age. Perhaps we might plan a betrothal.”

If the queen did not look so serious, Celia might have laughed. “But they are barely a year old.”

“Yes, but it would be good to have their future marriage in their minds as they grow up. It would make it easier for them to transition into such a role.”

“I… I don’t know. I had hopes that my daughter might be able to fall in love herself without any betrothal to complicate things.”

Cersei’s smile froze on her lips. “But your daughter would be queen, what parent doesn’t want that?”

“I have very few fond memories of this place, your grace,” Celia admitted. “Very few. This place is full of ghosts and I fear it always will be for me. I would never wish my daughter into a position that might cause her unrest.” She paused. “Not that Joffrey will cause her such unrest, but I would not force a betrothal upon them. Let them decide for themselves if that is what they wish do have.”

“Such a backwards way of thinking,” Cersei commented. 

Celia blushed. “Family comes first to me, your grace.  _ Then  _ duty. If, when Sansa comes of age, she wishes to be married to Joffrey, I won’t stand in the way of her happiness. However, I will not force her into a decision before she is even able to make a conscious choice for herself. 

“You’ll find, sweet sister, that I always get what I want in the end.” Cersei smirked, rubbing her belly again. “Always.”

—

_ Dearest Ce, _

_ I am happy that your marriage to Ser Jaime has become better. From all that you have written about him, I can tell you believe him to be a good man. Ever since we were children, you have always had a good judge in character. From Brandon to Ned, you have always discovered a goodness that was sometimes hard to find. I am trying to convince Ned of this fact so, whenever we find the opportunity to see each other again, he will not be terribly rude when he meets your husband again.  _

_ I love my husband, but sometimes I find him honorable to almost a fault.  _

_ Sometimes justice is not so black and white.  _

_ Anyhow, I feel it will be a year or so before we can meet in the Riverlands since our daughters are both so young. However, I cannot wait until I introduce you to my wild little Arya, who looks so much like her Aunt Lyanna that Ned finds it almost uncanny, and my Robb and Jon.  _

_ Robb is every inch a little lordling. He reminds me of Brandon, in truth, in all the good ways that we knew of him. Jon, however, is so painfully quiet like his father. He is a gentle soul, but I wish he would be more expressive.  _

_ How I miss you, my little sister.  _

_ Give Lysa my love, for I am unsure if she even reads my letters, and a kiss to both your children from me.  _

_ Your loving sister, _

_ Cat _

—

“Petyr!” Celia hugged the man without much thought. She pulled away and looked up at him. “It’s been too long.”

The master of coin blinked at her. Then, he seemed to recognize her. His features melted into a smile. “Celia. It truly has been. You’ve grown.”

She laughed. “It’s been almost ten years since we saw each other last. How are you?”

“As well as any man can be, I suppose. And you?”

“Well. I have two children and a kind husband.”

“Ah, one of the lucky ones then.” 

Celia smiled. She had missed Petyr. The man had served as an older brother to her while her father had fostered him. He has indulged most of her playing because Cat had as well, but even so. 

“If I had known you were in King’s Landing I would have written to you.”

“Then we shall rectify it when you return to Casterly Rock.”

Celia beamed up at him. “You should join Lysa and I for tea one of these days. If we had Cat here it would be like old times.”

“Yes it would,” he agreed. “And how is Cat?”

“Happy. She has three children now, you know. Two boys and a girl.”

“I had heard.” His expression was only a little still. “How does she care up north beyond just her children?”

“She seems to be happy,” Celia replied. “Ned is a good man and he makes my sister happy. I think she is happier than she would have been with Brandon, although I believe she would have been happy with him as well.”

“And how are you?” Petyr asked. “You married so quickly and to the Kingslayer as well.”

“Please don’t call him that,” Celia urged. “He’s much more than that.”

“He is good to you then?”

“He is kind and cares for my happiness as well as our children’s.”

Petyr brushes some stray hairs from her face and tucked them behind her ear as he used to when they were children. “If you ever need anything, Little Ce, know you can always depend on me.”

She blinked up at him in confusion. “I don’t think I ever shall, but I will keep that in mind, Petyr. Now, I must be going. I fear Sansa is to wake from her nap soon and we do so desperately need to get ready for the feast the king has prepared for her birthday.”

Celia curtsied and made her way down the hall to the nursery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of Lysa?  
What did you think of the letters/notes between our main couple?  
Their intimate moment in the morning? He said her name!  
Celia’s discussion with Cersei?  
Cat’s letter?  
Celia sewing Petyr?


	11. Jaime VI

“Why don’t you give him his wooden sword to practice with?” Robert asked as Jaime played with Arthur.

“Because he’s too young to be given the sword for too long. Besides, he needs to learn to be careful, especially around Sansa.”

“Ah.”

The king was watching them carefully as though he were mentally taking note of everything Jaime did with his son. It was slightly unnerving, being watched in such a way. He was aware that the king was not judging him, but merely curious. He couldn’t understand why though. 

“Is there a particular reason as to why you are only _ watching _, your grace?”

“I told you, I haven’t interacted with children in a long time and Joffrey cries whenever I hold him. Maybe… maybe children know what I’ve done and they don’t… care for me anymore.”

Jaime paused. He wondered if Joffrey somehow knew the king was not his father or if the boy could sense Cersei’s dislike of her husband. 

“You killed a prince in battle,” Jaime said slowly. “I ran a sword through a king’s back. If children were frightened of what you did, then they’d be terrified of me.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Arthur,” Jaime turned to his son. “Do you want to be really tall?”

His son’s eyes grew wide. “Yes, Papa! Yes!”

“Okay.” Jaime smiled. “I’m sure if you ask your Uncle Robert very nicely, he’ll pick you up so you can be tall.”

Arthur turned his gaze sharply to Robert and toddled over to the king. He held up his arms, grasping towards the man, wanting. 

“Arthur,” Jaime warned. “What do we say?”

“Please, Uncle! Wanna go high!”

Jaime chuckled. “Close enough.”

Jaime watched as the king looked down at the boy with a mix of confusion and wonder. His heart twisted at the knowledge that he was denying the king any trueborn children. Perhaps, once he gives Cersei the three children she wanted, she would think of giving the king just once child of his own.

Robert slowly bent down and picked up Arthur carefully as though he were made of glass. Jaime’s son giggled as he began to rise higher than Jaime could lift him. Jaime’s own smile grew as he watched the king’s obvious joy at having a child that did not seem frustrated by his presence. 

Jaime watched his son and Robert began to play. While he occasionally had to warn Robert from doing anything too rough, the king seemed to be doing well with Arthur and Jaime’s son appeared to enjoy the playing as well. 

Jaime smiled as he began to take part in the games the king had created for his little nephew. 

—

Sansa’s first nameday celebration was held in the Red Keep. It was significantly smaller than Joffrey’s, but Celia did not seem to mind, neither did Sansa if Jaime were to be honest. The feast held family and many of the lords, but that was it. There was no large fanfair save the many coos and laughs that Sansa appeared to bring to everyone she gave her attention to. 

Celia and Jaime traded off holding her or Arthur. Although there was dancing and Jaime wished to dance with his wife, he feared doing so in Cersei’s presence. He told himself it was because he did not wish to upset his pregnant sister, but even that excuse felt weak in his mind.

Instead, he watched as Vylarr nervously asked Avari for a dance. His wife’s friend was blushing deeply as she agreed. 

“They make a cute couple,” his wife said from beside him. “Do they not?”

“I suppose,” he replied. “How did it even happen?”

“They bonded over not being directly from Westeros, speaking I’m Valerian. Arthur enjoys babbling in it with them as well.”

Jaime nodded. 

“Jaime?”

“Hm?”

He looked to his wife and smiled at her. She looked beautiful as she was, holding their son, a slight glow about her. 

“Perhaps you could dance with Sansa?” she suggested. “I know she’s young, but I believe it will be sweet.”

“As my wife commands,” he said jokingly, pressing a light kiss to her cheek. 

Her cheeks turned a rosey pink when he did so, letting his lips long near her skin for only a moment longer. 

Jaime took his daughter out to the dance floor. Her head rested against his shoulder and he could feel her nose rub against his skin. He rocked her gently with the sway of the music. The other lords and ladies cooed at him as they saw him dancing with his daughter. 

Jaime pressed a kiss to the top of her red curls, humming softly to his daughter as he danced. 

—

Jaime took his wife to their bed and began to languidly bring her to pleasure, taking it slow and steady as he felt Celia fall apart against his hand. He liked the slowness if it all, the painstaking detail he took in memorizing her body. 

The small dip of her waist. The dimple across her hip. The jut of her bone. He knew every inch of her. 

“Have you ever heard of a lord’s kiss, my lady?” he whispered harshly into her ear. He was so hard it was almost painful. Celia shook her head, resting it back against his shoulder. “Do you want me to give it to you? Hm?”

“Jaime…”

“If you want me to stop, I will,” he said. “Please. Let me do this for you. Will you let me?”

Gods, he did not know what had come over him. He had not even done this with Cersei before. 

“_ Yes _.”

“Lie on your back,” he said gently. 

Celia did as she was told and Jaime made his way down her body, pressing kisses along her stomach and hips. When he pressed his lips to where he wished them to be, his wife gasped, her hips bucking against his mouth. 

Gods, she tasted sweet. 

He continued to drink from her all the way through her release, her cries of pleasure ringing in his head as he turned her over into her belly and took her again grunting her name as he chased his own release. 

—

A week later, Celia whimpered next to him and Jaime woke up to her snuggling against his chest, panting. Jaime blinked himself awake and looked at his wife carefully. She was pale and a thin sheen of sweat covered her skin. Jaime held the back of his hand to her brow and found her burning.

Jaime sat up quickly. “Celia?” He looked her over and found she was warm everywhere. Jaime swore to himself as he rushed out of bed. He opened the door and found one of the keep’s soldiers standing. The man looked shocked to see Jaime up. “Fetch a maester,” Jaime shouted. “My wife is ill!”

The soldier’s eyes grew wide and the man rushed down the hall as Jaime returned to Celia’s side. 

When Jaime returned to their bed he found that Celia had scooted over onto his side of the bed. She was still whimpering, curling herself into a ball. Jaime sat down next to her. He took a washcloth and began to dab at her skin, hoping that the coolness would ease some of her pain. He moved her hair away from her body, hoping that it would help cool her when the maester finally entered their rooms. 

Pycelle rushed to Celia and politely asked Jaime to remove himself. 

Although he loathed to, Jaime stepped back and watched as the maester began to check his wife’s pulse and temperature. She looked so pale and helpless and Jaime found his heart pounding in his chest at the thought of how much pain she might be in. 

Pycelle looked to Jaime. “She is running a high fever.” It took everything in Jaime to not snap at the maester about already knowing that. “Because it is so sudden we can only wait until she sleeps through it and hope that the fever breaks soon.” Jaime nodded. “Shall I have one of my assistance watch over her, Ser?”

Jaime’s gaze snapped to the maester. “And why can’t you?”

“The queen is going to give birth any day now. I need to be ready and I can’t be near too much sickness before then.”

Jaime growled at that. “I’ll look over her,” he snapped. “Give me whatever medicine you think may help her and send one of your assistants for aid should I need guidance.”

Pycell nodded. “Of course, Ser.”

Jaime returned to his wife’s side dabbing at her brow. 

“Jaime…” her voice was so weak. 

“Shhh…” he pressed a kiss to her brow. She was so hot. “It’s going to be okay.”

“The children…”

“Avari can look after them. Rest.”

She looked up to him, her gaze wavering. “Jaime…”

“Shhh… Rest.”

—

Jaime spent all his time next to his wife. Because he did not know what she was ill with, he was afraid of visiting their children although he had Vylarr tell him how the two were doing. Jaime missed his children greatly, but he did not wish for them to get sick as well. 

More often than not, he held his wife in his arms, his chest bare as the maester said it might help. He kissed along the bridge of her nose telling Celia about his childhood, his mother, his time in the kingsguard. 

Sometimes she would become restless and Jaime would carry her in his arms around their room. She felt like she belonged in his arms. The only people who had ever felt more right there had been their own children. But Celia… she felt right. 

The king would visit on occasion. He told her how restless Cersei was becoming without his usual visits. He told Jaime that he had been able to pick up Joffrey without the babe crying almost immediately. 

His father would visit, asking after Celia’s health and giving him some documents that couldn’t wait. It was sometimes surprising how invested Tywin seemed to be in Celia. 

“She sees the goodness in people,” Tywin answered when Jaime asked him. “I… your mother was the last person to see any goodness in me. Gods know I never showed it to any of you.” He looked sad as he watched his good daughter whimper again. “She’s a good woman, Jaime, more so than I think this family deserves. However, perhaps she is just what this family needed.”

Celia’s sister did not visit, sending word that she did not have the time to do so, saying she might be pregnant and did not wish to trouble the baby if she were. Jaime only half believed her. 

One of the maester’s assistants came to the room. “The queen is going into labor,” he said. “Will you be joining everyone in waiting?”

Jaime looked to his wife and thought of Cersei, his unborn child. The child that would never know him as a father. The child Robert seemed excited for. The child Robert had practiced holding with Sansa since she was smaller than Joffrey and much calmer. The child Jaime would never truly get to know. Then he thought of his wife. 

_ You’re a good man, Ser Jaime. _

“I’ll stay with my wife and pray to the Mother that my sister delivers safety. Send her my regards.”

The assistant bowed and left the room. 

Jaime returned his attention to his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robert, Jaime, and Arthur?  
Sansa’s little nameday! She’s one now!  
Jaime progressing in their intimate relationship!  
Celia sick!  
Jaime picking Celia over Cersei!


	12. Celia VI

Celia woke before the sun had even peaked over the buildings of King’s Landing. While her whole body felt stiff, the searing pain in her head was gone. She stared up at the canopy of her bed for a long moment, blinking until the red drapes became clearer. Celia then looked to her side and saw her husband sitting next to the bed. The upper half of his body rested against the mattress, one arm tucked under her head, the other hand held her wrist gently as though to keep an eye on her pulse.

“Jaime…”

Her husband’s eyes opened quickly. He stood and leaned over her, cupping her face with his hand. “Thank the gods,” he breathed, sprinkling her brow and cheeks with kisses. “Thank the gods.” He laid a hand across her forehead. “The fever has broken. I’ll fetch the maes—”

He stood to leave, but Celia held his hand tightly to keep him from moving. “Stay,” she whispered. “Please. For just a moment longer.”

Jaime looked at her and his gaze was soft, Celia could almost call it loving. He returned to her side, crawling into bed next to her and under the covers. Her husband pulled her against him, his lips brushing against her temple. 

“I’ll stay for just a moment longer. Then I really need to get the maester to look after you.”

Celia nodded and cuddled into her husband’s embrace. His hand began rubbing slow circles into her back and pressing soft kisses against her skin. There was no heat behind it, just warmth. 

“The children missed you,” he murmured. “Arthur wanted to come sleep with you, but I did not deem it wise since I did not know how sick you were.” He began to nuzzle her cheek with his nose. “Sansa calls for her  _ mama  _ almost every hour.”

“Did  _ you _ miss me?”

He pulled away from her slightly and kissed the bridge of her nose. “As though one part of myself were lost,” he admitted. “I have missed you.”

Celia smiled at him weakly. “I’m right here.”

Jaime smiled and pressed his forehead against hers, continuing to nuzzle as though he were a true lion staking his claim on her. Celia lifted her hand and ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him so much closer. 

He put his hand over hers and slid it along his cheek until he could place a kiss upon her palm. “I really must get the maester. For my own sake, please.”

Celia gave a breathy laugh. “Okay.”

Jaime kissed the back of her hand before slipping out of their bed and out of their rooms. Celia closed her eyes and felt herself drift off into sleep. When she awoke, a cold hand was placed against her brow. She opened her eyes and found Maester Pycelle standing over her. 

“Good morning, my lady,” he said kindly. 

“Am I alright?”

“It appears so. My only guess is that you ingested something that does not agree with you or you might have caught something in passing. However, it appears you are free from it’s clutches, my lady.”

“Thank you,” she said genuinely. “How is the queen? Did I miss the birth?”

“The queen gave birth to a healthy prince and princess one day ago. Both healthy. The princess was born one minute before the little prince.”

“That’s wonderful,” Celia said, trying to sit up. 

The maester put a hand on her shoulder. “My lady, you must rest for a while longer. We need to air out your rooms as well before anyone else might enter.” The old man glanced at Jaime. “No strenuous activities either.”

Celia giggled when she saw the tips of her husband’s ears turn pink. 

—

Once Celia was allowed out of bed, she went to see her children immediately. Jaime had her hold onto his arm as they walked to the nursery. As soon as Arthur saw her, he screeched and ran out of Vylarr’s hold and into her legs, wrapping his arms around her as he was able. Although Celia wished to pick her son up herself, Jaime did so instead saying she needed to rest  _ more.  _ Avari brought Sansa to her and Jaime allowed her to hold their daughter since the girl was still small. 

“Mama! Mama!” their little girl squealed, clapping her hands on Celia’s cheeks and pressing an open mouth to her nose in a baby form of a kiss. 

Celia smiled and snuggled her daughter’s cheek. Jaime brought them all closer together so that they might have a moment. 

“I’m glad you’re well, Ce,” Avari said, putting her hand on Celia’s back. 

“Thank you, Ari, for looking after them.”

“They’re children of my heart. If I had any of my own, you would do the same.”

Celia smiled and held her family closer. 

—

“Congratulations on the prince and princess,” Celia said when she saw the queen next. “They’re gorgeous. I wish I could have been there with you, I know it had been such a consolation when you were with me for Arthur’s birth and Avari for Sansa’s.”

Cersei’s jaw seemed to strain for a moment before a smile slipped onto her features. “Yes, I was so worried when I heard you had fallen ill. I am  _ so  _ glad that you are feeling better.”

Celia smiled. “I’m sorry that I can’t have any tea, Maester Pycelle was adamant that I only drink my medicine for the first few days and then I can get back to drinking normally. And eating. Gods, I’ve only had soup for a week.” She put her hand on Cersei’s. “I’m glad you are well. My sister says that having twins can be so very painful. It’s a blessing that the king demanded he be with you and help you through it.”

“Yes,” Cersei said, her voice strained. “How kind.”

“He’s been practicing holding babies with Sansa since she’s a little less fussy.” Celia laughed. “He’s such a large man that she could sleep rather comfortably in the palms of his hands.”

The queen stood. “Forgive me, Celia, but I’m afraid I’m rather tired.”

“Oh!” Celia stood and curtsied. “Of course. Rest well, your grace.”

Cersei did not reply and left the room with heavy steps. 

—

Celia breathed a sigh of relief when they returned to Casterly Rock. She did not care for the Red Keep, save for the people who now resided there. She had too many horrors for castles of kings to hold much charm for her. 

They reached their keep in the early evening and the children had already fallen asleep in the carriage. Celia and Avari took the two little lion cubs to the nursery and settled them before going to their own rooms. 

She entered her chamber and found Jaime in the midst of putting his sleep shirt on. 

Celia was ashamed to say she squeaked. 

Jaime froze, his arms over his head, his shirt not even close to being on. He looked at her for a long moment and smirked. “Do you see something you like, my lady?”

Celia knew, just knew, she was blushing a shade darker than her hair. “I believe you already know what I like, Ser,” she tried to sound confident, but found her voice wavered slightly. 

“I believe I do.” He let his shirt fall to the floor and stepped forward, wearing only his trousers. “If you turn around, I will help you with your dress.”

Celia’s breath hitched in her throat. She turned her back on him and she felt Jaime’s fingers begin to loosen her dress until it began to slip. He pressed kisses against the revealed skin as the fabric slid down her shoulders.

“The maester said we would have to wait another week until we can do any  _ strenuous activities _ ,” her husband growled. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”

“I’m right here,” Celia gasped as his hands went to her breasts. “I’m right here.” He continues to fondle her, his thumbs brushing against her peaks. She arched her back into his touch. His hands withdrew from her and she whimpered. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She turned to face him, leaning forward to kiss his jaw, everywhere but his mouth. If she kissed him there, perhaps it would be too far, as though she would never be able to return if they sealed their union with a kiss outside the one they shared in the sept when they were first married.

“You could never hurt me.” She took his hands in hers and kissed his knuckles. “Not these hands. Not your lips.” She looked up at him.

His eyes were dark and molten as he stared into her. Jaime dipped his head and began to nuzzle at her neck. “Sit on the bed.”

He backed her up until she was sitting on the mattress, lifting her shift over her hips along the way. He knelt down before her and pulled her knee over her shoulder. Celia laid back and reached out to grip his hair as he found the lips he would kiss.

“I’ve missed you,” he groaned. “I’ve missed you.”

_ I’m right here.  _ She moaned and tugged at his hair to bring him closer.  _ Right here.  _

—

They met the small party from the Vale at the gates of Casterly Rock. Avari was holding Sansa and had Arthur by the hand. Celia stood next to her husband who, in turn, stood next to his father. Tyrion was next to her. Lord Royce dismounted his horse and then plucked a small girl from her place at the front of the saddle. 

The girl was sweet looking. Her black curls were wild and her blue eyes fluttered across the sky as she took in the keep. Her mouth was open as she looked. Celia’s heart went out to the girl. Robert had said the girl was six.

“Lord Tywin,” Lord Royce nodded his head. 

“My lord,” her good father said. “You’ll recall my heir, Jaime and his wife Celia.”

Jaime nodded his head and Celia gave a small curtsy. Lord Royce nodded to both of them. 

“I remember the young lady sending letters to Ned in order to inquire about his brother on behalf of her sister.”

Celia blushed. She cursed her younger self for doing something so embarrassing. 

“No worries, my lady,” the Valeman said. “Ned never shared the content of your letters. Just the purpose.”

Celia nodded, feeling slightly mollified. She had truly wrote some embarrassing threats to her good brother if he told a falsehood or if Lord Brandon were not kind to her sister. She was fairly certain one threat was putting a living fish into their bed while they slept. 

“Mya, come here, child,” Lord Royce called. 

The girl rushed over to her liege lord’s side and looked up to Celia’s family. Mya gave a clumsy curtsy. “Hello, my lords and lady.”

Celia smiled and kneeled down so she was at Mya’s level. “Hello, Mya. Do you know why Lord Royce brought you here?”

“He says I am to live here. My father said I am to live with you.”

“That’s right, sweetling.” She indicated Arthur and Sansa. “I have two children of my own and I think they would love to be friends with you, especially Arthur since Sansa is still a little one yet. Would that sound fun?”

Mya seems to think it over for a moment before nodding. Celia offered the girl her hand and Mya hesitantly took it. 

“May I pick you up, sweetling?”

Mya nodded again and Celia pulled the girl into her arms and lifted her up. She was much heavier than Arthur was, being almost three years older, and she heard Jaime mumble  _ so much for not straining  _ before she shifted the girl onto her hip. Mya wrapped her arms around Celia’s neck and rested her head against Celia’s shoulder.

She fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Celia woke up! 
> 
> What did you think of her soft moment with Jaime?  
Her reuniting with her children?  
Meeting with Cersei?  
The return to Casterly Rock and Jaime going down on Celia again?  
Meeting Mya?


	13. Jaime VII

“Are you my father?”

Jaime looked up from his writing and saw Mya peering at him over his desk. Her wild black curls were loose and he could only guess she was clutching the stuffed doe Celia had made for her, the girl and the animal were rarely, if ever, separated. 

Mya has settled in well over the past two weeks. She took on the role of big sister rather well when it came to Arthur and Sansa. The girl was rather tomboyish and Jaime and Celia did little to dissuade her from her preferences, save for her interest in playing with a wooden sword. Arthur was too young to play with her in that regard and they didn’t want her to feel any guilt if someone  _ was  _ hurt. 

Jaime put his quill down and pushed his chair back from his desk. “Why do you think that?”

“Lord Royce said my father said I was to live here. And you live here with Lady Celia and Arthur and Sansa. My mother died when I was two.”

Jaime sighed softly and motioned for the girl to come to him. Her smile brightened as she came around the desk to stand before him. He picked her up and sat him on his knee. She looked so happy at the prospect of him being her father that it was almost surprising. Jaime hates that he would have to tell her otherwise. 

“I’m sorry, Mya,” he said gently. “But I’m not your father.”

The girl’s smile dimmed and her blue eyes began to well up with tears. “But I live with you!”

“I know.”

“Lord Royce said—”

“He did not lie. Your father did ask for you to live here and be fostered by me and Lady Celia.”

“Why can’t he be  _ here _ ?”

Jaime tucked her hair behind her ear and pulled out a handkerchief and held it to her nose. She blew it dutifully and Jaime tucked it back in his pocket. “Your father is the king, Mya.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Then why can’t I live with him? The Red Keep is  _ huge _ ! Mandy said so!”

Jaime had no idea who Mandy was. “As the king, he’s very busy and sometimes we can’t always look after family when we’re busy, so he sent you to come live with me and Lady Celia.”

“Why?”

“Because… because we have enough love to share.” It was a strange answer, but it felt right, especially in Celia’s case. Jaime had no doubt she could love almost everyone. 

“Will I ever get to meet him?” May asked softly as she chewed her lip. 

“I’m sure he’ll visit at one point, he’s married to my sister.”

Mya narrowed her eyes at him. “Then you’re my uncle.”

Jaime chuckled. “I suppose, in a way, I am.”

“Can I call you Uncle Jaime?”

“You can.”

The girl threw her arms around Jaime’s neck and hugged him tightly. Jaime held her close, rubbing her back gently until she was ready to let go. 

—

“Cat!”

“Ce!”

Jaime hung back as he watched his wife practically fling herself into her older sister’s arms. The Tully women hugged each other fiercely and Jaime wondered for a moment if either would let go or even leave each other’s presence for the entirety of the trip. Even so, Jaime found himself smiling at the two sisters as they greeted one another in their girlhood home. 

He had met Catelyn Stark on a couple occasions. He was surprised at how similar the two sisters looked, even though Celia was four years younger than her sister and had slightly darker hair. A person would have to be blind to not see the family resemblance. 

“Ser Jaime.”

He turned to look at Ned Stark who was frowning at him. Celia had told Jaime that her sister was trying to appease her husband into playing nice, but Jaime did not believe it had done much. The wolf had already judged the lion and he doubted the man’s opinion would shift. 

The man’s appearance hadn’t changed that much, but Jaime could see a slight weight added to his presence. When news that he had found Lady Lyanna had reached the men in Jaime’s camp, he had hoped that the rest of the missive would give good news. However, the man had found his sister dead within the blasted tower, having bled out during childbirth to a stillborn silver haired girl. Not a maester in sight. 

When Jaime had heard the news he had wanted to rage at his sworn brothers who had not given the girl the proper attention and care she needed. For not letting not letting her brother in without a fight. He cursed all the gods that the girl had died due to one man’s actions. That the girl had not lived when so many had died to bring her home. 

Jaime’s heart went out to Ned Stark. Truly, it did. 

“Lord Stark.”

“My threats still stand, Eddard Stark,” Celia said with a slight flush to her cheeks and her chin lifted. “I believe my sister would even help me. Now, play nice for the children’s sake.”

Jaime was surprised at the blush that formed on Ned’s cheeks and he wondered what on earth his wife had threatened when she was a child. 

Celia laughed and hugged her sister one more time before returning to the carriage to get their children. She picked Sansa up and helped Arthur and Mya down. “This little one is Sansa.” She put her hand on their son’s head. “Arthur.” She attempted to smooth out Mya’s hair. “And our niece, Mya Stone.”

Ned’s eyes remained on Mya for a little longer than necessary and then Jaime remembered that he probably knew of the girl and perhaps even remembered Robert visiting her. 

Cat smiled. “I fear our children are not yet used to this more southern heat, so they’re all inside, but I’m sure they will be quite excited to see all of you. 

Celia smiled, Jaime was not even sure the expression had even left her face. “Let’s go then! I am rather excited to try and become the favored aunt on both sides of the family.”

Jaime rolled his eyes but found himself smiling as well. 

—

“If you hurt her,” Ned said in the privacy of the feast where most paid attention to the Tully girls and their children, “I will make you regret it.”

Jaime glanced at his good brother. “I am only human, Lord Stark, we all hurt each other.”

“Has she?”

Only when she left him alone in their marriage bed when he deserved it, when he missed the birth of Sansa. “Haven’t you? I’m sure the honorable Ned Stark has made his wife cry on a few occasions.”

“Celia is—”

“My wife and the mother of my children. She’s not a little girl you need to save.”

Jaime hated that he felt the need to be defensive of the relationship he had with his wife. However, he only slightly understood. Celia was only a year or so older than Ned Stark’s late sister. There was that inherent need to protect that came with being a brother and it never went away, Jaime doubted that death stopped such a feeling from rising. 

“She’s a sweet girl and doesn’t deserve the horrors she saw while in King's Landing.”

Jaime clenched his fist. The man didn’t know the half of it. Some days he could still feel Celia trembling in his arms as she told him what the Mad King has almost done to her. Although he had many reasons for doing so, knowing what the Targaryen had almost done to Celia and what he did to to Rhaella and possibly many other women, Jaime would never regret running his sword through Aerys’ back. He only wished he had made the act more painful. 

“No one deserves what they saw in King’s Landing.” He could still see Rickard Stark’s charred body, Brandon Stark’s blue face. The bodies of Aegon and Rhaenys wrapped in Lannister cloaks. Elia Martell’s blood on the Mountain’s clothes. “No one.”

The two men were quiet for a moment, watching their wives enchant their fellow rivermen. 

“You don’t deserve a girl like her. Not a man like you.”

Jaime’s stomach twisted into a knot as he thought of Cersei, the children he had given her, the way he had treated Celia at the beginning of their marriage. “I know.”

—

“This was my room as a girl,” Celia told him when they readied for bed. “After I left the nursery, of course.” It was a decently sized room, adequate for the well-loved third daughter of any family. “It feels like a lifetime since I’ve been here.”

“Weren’t you smuggled back here when your father got you out of King’s Landing?” Jaime asked. 

His wife shook her head. “I was brought to my father and stayed in his and my uncle’s tent. They didn’t trust for me to get back safely and they needed every men they had with them. It’s why I arrived at Casterly Rock when you did as well.” She ran her hand along the wooden frame of the bed. “I haven’t been here since I left for Harrenhal.”

“That’s where Prince Rhaegar met you and brought you into Princess Elia’s services.”

She nodded. “My grandfather had me sing a song and the prince thought me a siren and said I must come to King’s Landing to sing pretty songs for his wife for all he knew were sad ones.” She frowned. “It was supposed to be a great honor.”

Jaime stood behind his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders and placed a kiss at the curve of her neck. “It should have been.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it, how often we were in the same place but rarely met.”

Jaime could only remember meeting her on their wedding day, but there was still truth in her words. “I wonder what life would have been like if we had met sooner.”

Would he have let things even begin with Cersei? Would he have agreed to entering the kingsguard? Would he have gone into the marriage clean of any taint as she had?

“Me too,” she whispered. His hands wandered down her hips. “I pray to all the gods that we still would have found each other. That we still would have married. Whether it be when we were children or—”

“Yes,” he encouraged, his fingers tightening over her hips as she began to grind herself back against him. He saw her knuckles grow white as she tightened her hold on one of the wooden poles of the bed frame. 

Jaime moaned as he began to grind back, feeling her wet and wanting already through her shift and his pants. Gods, how long had she been ready for him? “Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice rough with want. “For me to take you on your girlhood bed? Pretend that I escaped some feast to dishonor the lord who granted me guest rights by taking you? Steal you away like Bael the Bard?”

His wife mewled as he lifted her hips and began to rub himself against her. Gods he was a mess. He wanted her so much. He—

The door opened and Jaime froze for a second before letting his wife go and stood between her and the door to protect her modesty. To his immense relief and slight annoyance, it was only their son. 

Whatever arousal Jaime had previously, flagged instantly. 

“Arthur,” he breathed. “What is it, sweetling?” He could hear his wife straighten her shift behind him. 

“Scary dream,” he said softly. 

“Oh, come here, love.” Celia went to their son and picked him up, holding him protectively in her arms. 

Hearing his wife say the word sent a thrill up his spine. “He can sleep with us tonight,” Jaime said. He kissed his wife’s cheek. “I fear we’ll have to save  _ that  _ for a later night.”

He smiled when he saw the blush spread down to his wife’s neck. 

The three settled into bed, their son snug between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think of the Jaime and Mya moment? I just wanted to give the girl a hug myself! She will get to see Robert though! ❤️  
Tully Sister reunion! With Celia embarrassing Ned only slightly! lol   
Ned putting on the big brother act and Jaime feeling annoyed. What do you guys think if Ned being big-brotherly to Celia?  
The near intimate moment!!! We love you Arthur but still! 🤣
> 
> Also, Robert seeing Mya for the first time in years:


	14. Celia VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The_wolf_of_Winterfell wrote a little au fic for this one! Please read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218117)

She wasn’t sure what it was that made her realize it, but Celia was in love with her husband. 

The day was just like any other save her father was taking Jaime and Ned out on a hunt, which neither particularly enjoyed. 

She was breaking her fast with her husband when Avari entered the room holding a squirming Sansa. 

“Forgive me, Ce,” she said. “But the little lady appears to want to fuss this morning.”

“Give her here,” Jaime said, standing. He went to Avari and took his daughter into his arms. She began to wiggle more urgently, not wanting to be still. “What is it, sweetling?” He sat down on the floor and raised her above his head. “What has our littlest lion all bothered?” Sansa giggled at her father and began to make grabby hands down to him. Jaime let her rest on his chest, laying down if the floor completely. Their daughter snuggled up against him, her butt wiggled into the air as she found a comfortable position. 

It was his laugh, Celia supposed, that made her realize it. His laughter was deep and rich and rumbling. 

“Papa, ‘leep,” Sansa yawned. 

“I’m afraid your grandfather will think me lazy if I do so, little cub.” Jaime lifted his head and placed a kiss to Sansa’s curls. “I’m sure if you ask your mother though…”

The two looked at her with their similarly imploring green eyes. 

“Just a half hour longer,” Celia sighed. She looked to her friend. “Thank you, Ari.”

Avari nodded and left the room. 

Jaime carefully stood, cupping Sansa’s back and bottom as he carried her to their bed. Celia crawled in after them. Sansa snuggled into her chest and Jaime wrapped his arm around both of them. 

“Half an hour.”

Jaime closed his eyes and chuckled. “Of course, my lady.”

Celia watched him and wondered how long it was that she had loved him, for she only realized it now and knew she was quite in the middle of it already. 

—

Celia and Cat sat in the gardens as their children played. Both held Sansa and Arya in their arms since the little girls were too small to join their brothers and cousins and Mya. Celia laughed as she watched Mya take her time in leading the charge against one of the retired hunting dogs who seemed to almost reluctantly took the job of septa for the children. 

“How is the North?” Celia asked. “Is it as beautiful as they say?”

“As beautiful as Brandon told me or as Ned said in his letters to you,” Cat smiled. 

Celia blushed. “I will never live those letters down, will I?”

Cat chuckled. “Probably not. It was always so adorable how protective you were of me.”

“You were my mother in all ways but birth, of course I was protective.”

“Of course. And how is Casterly Rock?”

“It is wonderful to be by the sea. I have taken the children there occasionally on walks. I met Avari and she has been teaching everyone Valyrian and a few other languages. Lord Tywin has also been kind to me.”

Cat smiled. “That’s wonderful. And Ser Jaime?”

Celia blushed. “He is so good to me, Cat. I know Ned doesn’t think him a good man, sometimes I think Jaime doesn’t think himself to be one either, but he is. He loves our children and he’s taken to Mya so well.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.” It was so easy to say, yet it made her heart race.

Cat took Celia’s hand in hers. “That’s all I ever wanted for you, Ce. I’m so happy for you. I know…” Her oldest sister took a deep breath. “I know I wasn’t able to protect you from King’s Landing. You being able to be with a man you love who loves your children. I’m so happy for you.”

Celia smiled. She turned back to look at the children and found Jon coming toward them. The youngest of the twins looked every inch like his father. He was a quiet boy as well, but still sweet.

Jon came over to them and stepped up to his mother’s knee. “Need a princess,” he said quietly. “Mya said she’s not one. Need a princess to fight for.”

Cat smiled. “I’m sure Arya and Sansa would love to be your princesses, sweetling.”

Jon nodded. He leaned up and kissed his little sister on the cheek. He then turned to Sansa and took her small hand in his and kissed it. “Gotta fight the dragon now.”

Celia smiled as well. “I’m sure the girls feel very protected now, Jon. Off you go.”

Once Jon went to join his brother, Arthur, and Mya, Celia glanced at Cat and the two women fell into giggles. 

—

Celia tucked her children in for the night. She and Cat had taken turns in the night for the children to grow used to each one of them. Her nephews and niece had begun to reach for her now and Celia’s heart swelled whenever they did so. Celia wished she could take all three home with her but knew Cat would probably not allow it. 

“Mama, sing please,” Arthur said when she got to tucking him in. 

Celia smiled and smoothed the hair from his face. She kissed his forehead before sitting on one of the rocking chairs. “Shall I sing for all of you?” The children nodded their enthusiasm and Celia chuckled. “As long as it’s only one and you all _ sleep _ afterwards.” The children nodded again. 

She thought for a moment, trying to think of a song to sing to them. 

“_ High in the halls of the kings who are gone _ ,” Celia began. “ _ Jenny would dance with her ghosts _ .” Her voice whispered through the air like silk against skin. She looked at her three children. “ _ The ones she had lost and the ones she had found and the ones who had loved her the most _.”

It was a heartbreaking song, true and held so much more meaning to her than it might for the children. She had last sung this to little Rhaenys. “_ The ones who'd been gone for so very long, she couldn't remember their names. They spun her around on the damp old stones, spun away all her sorrow and pain. _”

She closed her eyes and let herself sink into the song. “_ And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave. _”

She truly did not sing much anymore, save for her children. Her voice had brought her to King’s Landing. It had brought her to the den of fire and blood and mad dragons who still haunted her sleep on occasion. Jaime had helped her a bit at night, holding her tightly in his arms and whispering to her gently that he would never let any man attempt to hurt her in that way again. “_ They danced through the day and into the night through the snow that swept through the hall. From winter to summer then winter again, ‘til the walls did crumble and fall _.”

She saw that the children were drifting into sleep and Celia stood to kiss them goodnight, going to her niece and nephews first. “_ And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave. _ ” She made sure they were nice and warm before going to her own children. “ _ And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave. _”

She smiled at the slumbering children. “_ High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts.” _ She kissed Arthur and Mya. “ _ The ones she had lost and the ones she had found, _ ” she pressed a kiss to Sansa’s brow. “ _ And the ones who had loved her the most. _”

—

The candles were still lit when her husband returned to their rooms. He personally hated hunting, she knew, but had indulged her father in the venture, just as Ned had. Celia chuckled at the thought of the two men bonding over their mutual dislike of the sport. Her husband came up behind her as she was brushing out her hair. Celia looked up at her husband through the mirror as he bent down to kiss her cheek. 

“I’ve missed you,” he grumbled as she put her brush down to cup his cheek. 

“I’m right here.” She sucked in a breath as his stubbled jaw scratched against the side of her neck.

Jaime noticed her reaction and repeated the motion. Celia squirmed as the sensation sent a tingle up her spine. Her hand slid up from his cheek and into his hair where she fisted it tightly. He groaned and began to drag his tongue against the irritated skin, trying to sooth it, but it only made the tingling worse.

Celia crossed her legs to hide her growing want, but Jaime noticed. He pulled her up from her chair and moved around it, crowding her against the vanity. 

“Look at you,” he whispered horsefly into her ear. “Is this what you want? Hm? Do you want me to take you here?”

“Please,” Celia breathed, pressing herself back until she was grinding against his hardened length. “_ Yes. _”

“I want you to watch,” he growled, pulling her shift over her hips. His sleep shirt was still between them, but Celia didn’t care. The friction was already making her fall apart. One of Jaime’s hands went to her neck and he lifted her gaze up to the mirror and she could see him watching her through the mirror. “Watch.”

Celia nodded, reaching back with her free hand to pull at his shirt, trying to yank it up. It didn’t take long before her husband was sheathed inside her. Their eyes remained locked as he thrust into her. Sharp, hard strokes that made Celia lose breath with each snap of his hips. 

“So beautiful,” he grunted into her ear. “So damn beautiful.” He kissed her ear so tenderly it almost felt out of place against the constant rhythm of his hips. “I dream of you,” he admitted. “Only you—gods—”

His hand went between her legs and his thumb hit just the _ right _spot and she came apart for him. Jaime swore and pulled out of her. Celia cried out in disappointment at her emptiness, which quickly turned to shock as he turned her and sat her on the vanity. He plunged back into her and the new angle caused Celia to give out a silent scream as her husband continued to pound into her. She hadn’t even gotten through her first release when he pulled her into another one. 

Celia wrapped her legs around her husband’s hips, her arms around his neck as he began to suck marks into her skin, trying to bring him as close as possible. 

He said her name like a prayer, over and over and over again. _ Celia. Celia. Celia. Celia. _

She had nothing to ground herself to, save him. She dug her heels into the small of his back and her fingers dug into his skin so hard she feared she might draw blood. 

“That’s it,” he growled. “Like this. Should have always—” Jaime sheathed himself deep inside her and she felt his release. He rutted gently into her, one of the hands on her hips slid down her thigh and he hitched her knee over the crux of his arm. The new angle change brought him so much deeper than before. 

Celia held onto him, burying her face into his neck as he stilled within her, not even pulling out of her when he lifted her up and brought her to her girlhood bed. He pulled out of her then and reached to the bedside table to get a washcloth and began to clean her up. 

“Sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “If I hurt you.”

Celia shook her head, sitting up and kissing his jaw and the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t know it could _ be _ like that.” Her body was still singing from her high. “I didn’t know it could _ feel _like that.”

When Jaime finished cleaning them, he laid her back down and rolled into the cradle of her thighs, resting his head in the valley of her breasts. “It should always be like that,” he whispered. Jaime looked up at her, his eyes dark. “Sleep, love.”

Celia was uncertain if he knew what he had called her, but sleep overcame her and she drifted off in her husband’s embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celia realized she loves Jaime! Also, how cute was Jaime with wittle Sansa?  
The small Jonsa moment! (Their babies, nothing major will happen yet)  
Celia singing to the children and thinking of Rhaenys.  
That final scene with Celia and Jaime! And is it just me or...  
  
They faced each other!!!!!


	15. Jaime VIII

When Jaime and his family returned to Casterly Rock, he became more determined than ever to do his duties as his father’s heir. He began to take an interest in Lannisport and the ships that came from across the sea. He began to ask Vylarr in his studies in Valyrian since he was rather rusty and would enjoy helping Arthur and Sansa with their lessons. Mya as well, although she was more stubborn about it. 

He began to take Arthur with him when he was doing his duties as heir. He began taking Sansa with him to the ports to help her figure out what was good trade and what wasn’t—she usually liked anything soft and shiny, though. He brought Mya to the stables and the track. She seemed to enjoy looking over the horses. Mya also enjoyed numbers and counting so he had her sit in with Arthur on lessons. 

With everything, Celia stood by his side smiling at him and spending time with their children. His wife took an interest in the things and people beyond the keep, things that Cersei had always found boring. Celia would walk with him around the base of the keep while the children were napping or at their lessons. They felt… almost on equal footing. 

And at night… Gods, he had been blind to what it could have been these past three years. It was as though he were relearning her body all over again. 

The way she was beneath him was so different. It felt more.

The way she would rock her hips up to meet his. The way she would dig her nails in his back, her foot urging him deeper and deeper. The way she moaned into his ear between pants as he took her hard and fast, or the way she would sigh when he took her with a steady rhythm as he murmured sweet everythings into her ear. He would bury himself deep inside her and spend. Sinking into her until he was soft. 

Then, he would roll onto his back and reach for the water and cloth to clean the both of them, always making sure she felt good and wasn’t sore. Celia would curl into his side and play with the strings of his sleep shirt before sliding her hand onto his cheek to nuzzle against him. He’d press his nose into her hair and breathe her in.

Maybe Ned Stark was right. He wasn’t a good man, he probably never would be. 

However, whatever good that came from his life, Jaime knew all of it was from Celia. 

All of it. 

—

_ My dearest Jaime, _

_ I have missed you greatly since you were last in King’s Landing. Joffrey is still a joy, preferring me over the king. Myrcella and Tommen are as sweet as they had been when you left, however Robert has taken more of an interest in them. I wish he could see that they are _ mine _ , not his. I praise the gods that they are nothing like him. _

_ You should see how he tries with Joffrey still, but our son is firmly on my side in all things. _

_ I am writing this letter asking you to return to the capital. I miss you and want you by my side. I’m certain I can convince Robert that you are necessary here. Your little fish has guppies of her own, Arthur for Myrcella and Sansa for Joffrey, to keep her occupied. She can remain in Casterly Rock while you return to where you belong: by my side. I’m certain we can think of a way to keep you where you were meant to be, always meant to be. _

_ Yours always, _

_ Cersei _

Jaime read the letter over again. He knew enough about his sister to be well aware that she was serious. She would find a way to bring him back to King’s Landing, away from his wife, away from his children. 

He didn’t want that. 

He couldn’t leave now after everything was settled. Jaime stood and crumpled the letter in his hand before throwing it in the fire. He then sat back down and wrote his response. 

_ Cersei, _

_ I am afraid that I can’t come to King’s Landing. I’m needed here at Casterly Rock and doubt our father would allow for another trip so soon since Celia, the children, and I have only just returned from Riverrun. _

_ I pray to the Mother that the princes and princess remain in good health and believe it to be for the best that Robert has taken an interest in them. _

_ Your brother, _

_ Jaime _

A knock came to his study door. 

“Come in.”

Celia entered, wearing an Essosi gown Avari’s mother had made for her. The gold fabric was tight in the bodice, the skirt flowed gently out from the waist. Her hair was loose save for a braid around the crown of her head. 

Jaime’s cock twitched.

“Are you writing your letters?” Celia asked. 

He nodded. “Cersei requested that I come to King’s Landing.”

Her expression stiffened slightly and he could see her trying to remain aloof. “Oh.”

“I told her I’m needed here. I don’t think I can go to King’s Landing. Not right now anyway, not in the near future.” She smiled at him. “You look beautiful.”

Celia’s cheeks turned red. “Do not make fun of me, Ser.”

Jaime stood and walked to her. “Never, my lady.” He bent his head down and began to nuzzle behind her ear. He felt a quick breath fan across his cheek as he did so. “So beautiful. So very beautiful. I’ve missed you.” It’s almost become their way of saying what they wanted. Their way of saying three other little words that had yet to be breathed between them. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m right here,” she breathed, sliding her arms around his shoulders. 

Jaime bent slightly and hoisted her up, her legs going around his hips as he began to ravage her neck. He sat her on his desk and began to rut himself between her legs. His hands made quick work of pushing up her skirt and bunching it around her hips. Gods, she wasn’t wearing a smallcloth. He groaned as his fingers began to ready her. 

Celia’s hands slid down his chest and began to pull his shirt from his trousers before beginning to untie the laces that served as the only thing keeping his cock from her heat. 

Soon enough, he was inside her, pounding into her as his desk groaned underneath them. Celia let her head fall back as she rocked her hips to meet his, letting him grind against her at the end of every thrust. He hooked her knees under the cruxes of his arms and folded her almost in half as she held onto him tightly. 

“Celia—” His voice was rough and he wanted to roar her name out so that it would ring amongst the rocks of the keep. “So perfect.” She began to suck a mark just below his ear. “Just like that. Love, just like that.” He could hear a slight mewl in her breath as his hips began to snap, forcing the air from her lungs. “Do you like that? Like this!” He brought his hand between them to press his thumb against her. She cried out, her walls fluttering around him and she lost herself in him. 

He loved the way she looked. Her eyes fluttering closed, her mouth open in a silent roar, her cheeks flushed, her hair sticking ever so slightly to her skin. He was the one that made her so. It was him. 

“Cel—” His own release came suddenly and he groaned into her as he let his seed take root deep inside her. “That’s it,” he growled and she began to roll her hips into his again. “Do you want more? Can I make you fall apart again? What do you want, love? Tell me and it’s yours.”

“T-tongue,” she gasped as he trust against her one more time before pulling out. He was soft and wouldn’t be ready to take her for a minute or so. 

Jaime knelt down and threw her legs over his shoulders and began to drink.

—

Their little boy was three. 

It boggled Jaime’s mind as he carried his son around the great hall. It had been over three years since he first met his wife. Since he first had her. Gods, he had been such a fool. How he wished he had come to her knowing no one else. Gods. 

Arthur was everything Jaime was not. He was charismatic, even at three, and their people loved him. He smiled at everyone and waved hello. He remembered their names and their jobs and even their families. Jaime pressed a kiss to the top of his son’s head as he thanked one of the servants by name for the silverware. The silverware!

“Mama!”

Jaime looked up and saw Celia coming towards them with Sansa in her arms. Mya was skipping around her before coming up to stand at Jaime’s elbow, making faces at a giggling Arthur. 

“Hello, sweetling,” Celia said, kissing her son’s hand.

“Mama, Papa said I can have sword!”

Celia raised her eyebrow at him. “A better practice one,” Jaime said quickly. “Not live steel.”

His wife smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

—

As they readied for bed that night, Celia was sitting on their bed watching him pull his sleep shirt over his head. 

“Jaime.”

“Hm?” When she didn’t answer, Jaime finished putting his shirt on and went to her, cupping her face in his hands. “What is it?”

She placed her hands over his and guided them down her throat and breasts until they landed on her stomach, his gaze following their movement. “I’m with child.”

Jaime’s gaze returned to Celia’s. His heart began to swell at the soft glow of her in the candlelight. “Truly?”

She nodded, her lips melting into a smile as Jaime knelt before her. He pushed up the fabric of her shift and pressed a kiss to her bare belly. He could already feel the firmness of it. A child. Another child. 

Jaime gently pushed her back further on the bed, crawling after her until he knelt at her feet. “Let me worship you.”

A flush came across her cheeks. “I don’t want worship,” she breathed. “I just want you.”

“Then have me.”

Jaime lifted her leg by the ankle and kissed the inside. His lips traveled up nipping and sucking as he bent down, pulling the leg over his shoulder until he was at the apex of her thighs. Gods, he loved drinking from her. Giving to her what he had never given to anyone. 

Celia’s hand fisted at his hair as she began to grind herself against his mouth, wanting more. He was able to work her into enough of a frenzy that when he began to thrust three fingers into her she was already falling apart around him. He kissed her hip as he guided her through her release. 

When she was boneless, Jaime crawled up her body and continued his trail of kisses until he reached her breast. He sucked on her through the fabric of her shift and Celia cried out softly, desperate to pull him up to her, but Jaime kept his attention at her perky nub. He began to lick at her. 

“You’re going to be so full,” he murmured, transferring his affection to the other breast. “Feeding my child. I missed the weight of them in my hands. The way I knew what you do with them when I’m not touching them.” 

His wife moaned, tugging at him again. He followed her this time and sheathed himself inside her when he met her eyes. Jaime rested on his forearms above her as he began to move, slow and deep. Celia cupped his face in her hands and he bent his head down to nuzzle her. Loving the way she surrounded him. 

All the good in his life was due to her. Only her. 

His movements stuttered as he came close to his release. He moved a hand between them to help her with a second one. They rode their pleasure out together and Jaime slipped out of her when he went soft. He rolled them onto his back and held her to his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in and sighing, her hot breath causing his shirt to stick to his skin. 

“Jaime…”

He kissed the top of her head. Jaime could feel her drifting off. He held her tenderly in his arms as he felt Celia sink into a deep, boneless sleep. 

Jaime brushed his thumb along the firmness of her belly. He would never let anyone hurt this child. This time, he would be there for her—with her—the whole way. This was the first child they had when he…

Jaime drifted into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did y’all think of the slight change in Jaime?  
Jaime refusing Cersei and loving on his wife in multiple ways!  
Arthur is three!  
And another baby on the way!
> 
> I know so many of your guys were excited about the intimate scenes, but just remember two things:  
1\. They are both still partially clothed so they haven’t bared themselves to one another yet. Jaime is still hiding a secret after all.  
2\. Celia still doesn’t talk during their intimate moments because, of you remember that first time, Jaime told her not to speak. To her knowledge, he only wants her to speak in those sorts of moments if he’s hurting her.  
We have a few visitors coming to Casterly Rock! Guess who gets to meet their dad! 🥰
> 
> Also! I’m taking questions and headcanons in tumblr right now! Feel free to shoot me one today! ❤️


	16. Celia VIII

Celia stood by her husband as the carriage from King’s Landing entered through the gate. She was visibly pregnant now with the maester putting her at four to four and a half months along. The dress she wore didn’t hide her pregnancy, although it didn’t put her belly on full display either. She held onto her husband’s arm as they waited. 

Jaime had become so very attentive of her this time around. It was only slightly annoying how much he hovered over her, but Celia didn’t mind too much. She felt secure in the ways he worried over her. Her ankles were swollen and it hurt to walk at times and Jaime insisted on carrying her in those times. 

Avari had though it hilarious because, once, Jaime had practically tripped over himself to rush to Lannisport to find a specific spice she had been craving. She had mentioned it offhandedly that she always seemed to crave it when pregnant. Almost an hour later her good father was reprimanding his son for buying out almost the entire stock from the Essosi trader. However, Tywin had not been too upset when he learned the reason why. 

The king looked to be in better health since Celia had last seen him as he rode in through the gate. His cheeks were less ruddy and he looked more like the man who had battled Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. Robert dismounted his horse and went to the carriage to help his wife and young son down. Cersei was holding the little princess and one of her ladies maids was holding little Tommen. Robert led his wife to the Lannister household and they all bowed and curtsied to the king and queen. 

“Rise,” Robert said with a laugh. “We’re family after all.” He looked to Celia. “I see you’ve been hiding some good news from us.” His smile was wide and merry. 

Celia smiled back, rubbing a hand over her belly. “I thought it would be a fun surprise.” She looked over at Jaime. “My husband had wanted to share the news almost immediately, but when you sent word that you were coming, I thought this would be a pleasant surprise for when you arrive.”

“Call me please, then,” Robert said, kissing the back of her hand before slapping Jaime in the back for congratulations. “Looks like you’re going to try and catch up with me, children wise.”

Jaime smiled slightly.

Celia looked to Cersei who was watching her carefully. “It’s good to see you too, your grace,” she said with a slight curtsy. “I hope the journey was not overbearing.”

The queen’s gaze slipped to Celia’s belly and then to Jaime. “It was tiring.”

“Of course. Shall we go inside and let you all rest for a moment before we have our midday meal?”

“Sounds perfect,” Robert nodded. He motioned for the servants to begin unloading the carriage. “I shall steal you for a moment, Lady Celia. Tell me how your sister and Ned are fairing up North.” The king offered her his arm and Celia took it, letting her husband escort his sister back into the keep. 

—

“Do you know who I am?” Robert asked. 

Celia watched from the doorway as Mya stared up at the king. Robert has asked her if he might see Mya. The way he said his daughter’s name broke his heart. It was as though the name could be torn from his memory at any moment. Celia has said  _ of course _ right away. Who was she to keep a father from his daughter?

Mya looked at the man kneeling before her. She glanced at Celia and seemed to be more at ease knowing she was there. Hesitantly, Mya reached out and touched the king’s face. Celia saw Robert melt into his daughter’s touch, as though all the tension in his body was gone. Mya brushed Robert’s hair from his face and then touched his cheeks. She moved his lips into a smile.

“Father?”

Robert nodded, tears flooding his eyes. 

“Father!” Mya thee her arms around Robert’s neck and he stood, holding her close in his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as Mya cried. “I’m so sorry.” He kissed the top of her head and held her tight. He glanced at Celia.  _ Thank you.  _

—

While the maester assured both her and Jaime that coupling whilst pregnant would not harm the babe, Jaime had been so very hesitant about putting any of his weight on her. Celia had asked if he would take her as he had before, from behind, if that meant they could couple again. He had agreed but almost always drank from between her legs before turning her on her knees. 

That night was no different. 

One hand was over her own, their fingers laced together. His other hand cradled her belly protectively as he found a slow and steady rhythm. It was not as hard as their more frantic and passionate coupling, but this was something more. She already felt a little big already because of the pregnancy, but now she felt full. The drag against her, the friction as he pulled out of her only to slide back in. She loved how gentle he was being, the way he kissed her neck and just behind the ear. She loved the way he moaned softly against her as though she were the whole world. 

“You should always be like this,” he grunted, burying his face in the back of her neck. His hand spanned across her belly and he began to rub it in time with his thrusts. “Always round with my child. Always full of my spend. Gods, your dripping for me.”

_ Yes. Yes!  _ Celia just moaned in answer, pushing back to meet his thrusts. She wanted that too. Gods, she wanted that too. Give him a pride of children. Little red and golden lions running about the castle. Little brothers and sisters for Arthur, Mya, and Sansa. 

“Is that what you want, love?” He movements became sharper and his hand slid down between her legs and he began to press and rub against just the right spot. Celia threw her head back with a cry as she came. Jaime loaned into her ear, squeezing her hand tighter. “Gods—” He continued to rut through her release. “That’s it, Celia. Yes, love, that’s it!”

The growl of his release was feral and Celia shuddered against him. He held them there for a long moment, kissing the back of her neck and whispering how good she had felt. Jaime pulled out of her once he had grown soft and helped Celia lay on her side. He cleaned her off and curled around her back once he had finished cleaning himself. 

Jaime snuggled against her and Celia sighed as she felt the weight of his arm on her. His hand was splayed across her belly and he began to rub gentle circles against the growing bulge.

“Have you thought of any names?” he asked, kissing the base of her neck. 

“Minisa or Joanna if it’s a girl,” she said, bringing his hand up to her face so she could play with his fingers. “If she had red hair, Minisa; if she has golden hair, Joanna. Hoster or Tywin for boys, the same thing.” She could already feel him growing hard against her. She wiggled against him and he groaned, his hips bucking slightly against her. Celia continued to play with his hand in silence for a moment as though she hadn’t. “Did you mean what you said?”

“Hm?”

“About always wanting me to be with child.”

Jaime buried his face into her hair. “I want to have as many children with you as possible.”

Celia blushed. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Perhaps we should practice for the next one.” 

Jaime smirked. “Perhaps we should.”

—

Celia knee she got overly emotional when she was pregnant. It was natural, the maester had assured her. Even so, she felt so very embarrassed when she began crying at Cersei commenting on how much weight she had gained in this pregnancy. 

The comments had been littered throughout the visit. 

_ Oh dear, I had planned on giving you a dress. I suppose I have to get it altered now or give it to someone else.  _

_ You’ve gotten so big this time round. I never felt this big with the twins.  _

_ You used to be so pretty, little fish.  _

_ It’s a wonder my brother is as attentive as he is. He’s never really cared for larger girls.  _

_ Can he look at you know when you’re in bed together? _

It was the last comment that reduced Celia Ro tears. Avari has bristled next to her and glared at the queen, knowing she couldn’t say anything. 

“Cersei, leave her alone,” Jaime growled at his sister. He went to Celia and began to wipe away her tears. “Ignore her, she always gets hyper critical when she’s stuck in one place for too long and she hasn’t been allowed out riding yet.”

Celia watched as the two siblings glared at each other and she pressed herself against Jaime’s chest, Avari rubbing her back gently. 

—

That night, Jaime showed just how much he appreciated her body. 

Jaime was on his knees, buried to the hilt in her. Celia’s lower body was off the bed, her feet and his hands keeping her up. It was a new position and Celia loved it. Her knuckles were white as she gripped under the headboard, crying out as he began to pound into her. 

“Love the way you look,” he growled, his eyes never leaving her face. “Want to take you almost every hour of every day. It’s painful, Celia. Gods, that’s it, love—” He moaned as she began to rock herself into his thrusts. “I want you every morning. I want you every night, but you’re growing a baby, love. Don’t want to hurt you— Don’t want to tire you out. That’s it!”

His eyes closed as she began to flutter and tighten around him. His head fell back as he roared his release. Celia cried out with him, pushing herself harder against his tutting as she fought for this to be longer. 

He lowered her and fell onto his back, panting with her as they tried to catch their breaths. In an instant, he was on her again, kissing her over her shift and down her body until his mouth was on the apex of her thighs. He began to drink from her, cleaning her with his tongue and moaning at the taste. Jaime pulled her knees over his shoulder, continuing to lap at her until she was crying out again, the tightened spring in her belly releasing like a flood within her. Jaime remained in his place, licking at her until she was spent and boneless. 

Her husband rested his head against her belly, a hand on her hip. “Sleep, love,” he whispered and Celia let blissful sleep take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cersei has arrived and she is not happy. 😰  
What did you think of Robert and Mya’s reunion. I sort of based it around that scene from Hook when one of the lost boys has Peter smile and recognizes him that way.  
I’m giving you guys all the intimate moments because there’s going to be a long dry spell coming up soon.  
Cersei antagonizing Celia. Bleh!  
Jaime asserting that he does care for her!!! It’s going to hurt so much when she finds out.
> 
> Beware! Next chapter Cersei is going to threaten Celia and blackmail Jaime.


	17. Jaime IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gifted another lovely what if fic by Wintercameandwent! ❤️ Read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21263168)

Jaime had holed himself in his study for the day. Celia had taken the children down to the sea to play. Robert has gone with her, understanding that she probably shouldn’t be left alone but Jaime had important duties to take care of. News had come that three ships were lost due to a storm and he had to come up with a way for the Lannisters and the crown to make their money back. 

The door to his study opened and he saw Cersei enter. “I don’t have time right now, Cersei. Why don’t you go join Celia and take Joffrey and the twins with you.”

“You said that you wouldn’t give her anymore children,” his sister said darkly. 

Jaime’s stomach twisted into a knot. He didn’t look his sister in the eye and, instead, continued going through the accounts. “An accident,” he lied. A bold one. He had taken his wife to the marital bed more than willingly. And this child was one produced from— “I can't control her ability to fall pregnant.”

There was a pause. “You haven’t been pulling out,” she accused. “You’re letting _ that _woman have your bastard—”

“They aren’t bastards,” Jaime answered darkly. “And I ask that you not refer to them as such.”

“They aren’t Lannisters.”

“They are.”

“They’re lionfish, hardly worth—” His sister stopped and Jaime looked at her. “You love her.”

“I don’t,” Jaime said quickly. He couldn’t. Not after how he had come to her, after he had hurt her, after giving Cersei children. All he could do was care for her. Love their children and make her feel safe and secure. “She’s my wife and I have duties to her.”

“She loves you,” Cersei spat. 

Jaime’s heart fluttered in his chest at the statement. “I’m her husband. She _ cares _about me. Nothing more.”

“You were supposed to stay distant from her!”

“She’s my wife, Cersei! The mother of my children! I can’t stay away.”

“Can’t or won’t?!”

“Seven hells, it’s not as though we were ever going to be together. You’re my sister, Cersei! Celia’s my wife and my place is next to her. I gave you the three children I promised you! Let it go. We aren’t children anymore.”

“It’s _ her _fault! If she had never—”

“Father made the decision! She’s just as blameless as we are.” Even more so. 

“If she had just died when she was supposed to, none of this would have happened!”

The quill in Jaime’s hand snapped. His eyes went to Cersei, her face red with anger. “_ What? _”

“Don’t you see, Jaime? If she had just died when she was supposed to, you wouldn’t feel this need to split yourself. If she had died, little Arthur and that fish, Sansa, could live with us in the Red Keep. I can raise them as my own. Even if they are only half yours, I can love them well enough and then Arthur can marry Myrcella and she can become the lady of Casterly Rock and Sansa can marry Joffrey. They can be as we are supposed to be.”

Jaime’s mind was racing. “What do you mean _ when she was supposed to _?” Cersei looked away from him and Jaime stood, storming over to her. “What did you do, Cersei?” He grabbed her by the arms and shook her. “What did you do?!”

“What I’ve always done, Jaime. Protect _ us _. She thinks you belong to her! Just as Melara did!”

“Melara?” Jaime’s blinked in confusion at the mention of his sister’s late childhood friend. “What does she have to do with anything?”

“Your little fish is just like her, scheming to take you away. Did you know that’s what she hoped for? To marry you someday. As though she belonged anywhere beyond what she was, as though she deserved you!”

“Cersei, what did you do?!” Robert telling him what Cersei had threatened when the king had asked to bring his daughter to the Red Keep. “What did you do?!”

“If Celia had just died from the poison like she was supposed to, this wouldn’t be happening!”

Jaime stumbles away from her. “Gods. You killed her. You—” She had poisoned Celia. He grabbed his sister by the arms. “Don’t you _ ever _lay a hand on my wife. Gods, Cersei, you know what it’s like to lose a mother! You would leave my children without her.”

“You belong to me, Jaime! It’s what we deserve!”

“It’s not about deserving! It’s about being able to live with yourself.” Jaime closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath. 

“You live for me!”

“I live for my children! All of them! Dammit it, Cersei, you’re putting them in danger too by doing something so stupid!”

She slapped him. 

It took everything in Jaime to not hurt his sister back. How _ dare _she. 

“I am your queen,” she sneered. 

“Queen, is it? The one thing I could never give you was the one thing you always wanted. Cersei, we can’t do this anymore. If you love your children, stop this and try to make it work with Robert. He’s a good man.”

“Yes, a good man with bastards,” Cersei scoffed. 

Jaime curled his hand into a fist. He and Robert were the same. Cersei had made him that way. “Leave Celia and the children alone, Cersei. Please.”

“You love her,” Cersei accused. Her voice was small and it reminded Jaime of when they were children and she had been treated cruelly. He remembered being her knight once. 

“Cersei, please.”

“You belong to _ me _!”

“She’s my wife. I can’t—”

“I’ll poison her again.” Jaime froze. “You said you wouldn’t give her anymore children. Women die in childbirth all the time.”

“Don’t you dare hurt her,” he threatened. “You can’t.” 

“Then prove your love _ me _and I won’t. I’m a queen. I have my ways.”

Jaime worked his jaw as Cersei put her hands on his arms looking up at him with his own green eyes. “How?”

“Come to me tonight. Robert has to go settle some land disputes outside of Lannisport. He’ll be gone one night. Prove to me that you love _ me _and I’ll let your little pet live.”

“Cersei—”

“The only people in this world that matter are us.”

Jaime closed his eyes. 

He would never truly be free, would he?

—

He lied to Celia and said he had to finish a few reports. She had looked up at him from their bed and nodded. He made sure she was comfortable and kissed her brow before kissing her stomach through the bedding.

Then, he went to his sister’s rooms.

He had never felt this way, going to Cersei. He had always approached their hurried nights together with anticipation, now he was filled with only dread. 

He went to Cersei’s room and she was upon him in an instant. It was easy, falling back into her—into habit. He had memorized Cersei’s body and wants many years ago. It was not long until he was inside her, thrusting into her heat as she chanted his name in his ear. She gave him orders to. _ Harder. Harder _ ! _ There! Gods, there! _

He let himself go away inside. Gods, he hadn’t done _ that _in years. He let himself close his heart up as he brought his sister to release. He continued until he began to spill. “Ce—”

He bit his tongue. _ Celia. _ Gods. _ Celia. _

Jaime pulled himself out of her and got off the bed. He gave her a cloth to wash herself after he finished cleaning himself up. 

“See, Jaime,” she purred, standing to rub herself against him. “This is how it’s supposed to be. Isn’t this better than rutting into a cold _ dead _fish.”

“Of course, Cersei. Of course.”

—

He shuddered, spilling into her. “Celia…”

—

Cersei made him lie with her four more times during her stay in Casterly Rock, once even in his study. Throughout it all, Jaime tried to convince her that everything he was doing was to protect their children. If he appeared close to Celia, people wouldn’t think about how little their children looked like Robert. She appeared mollified by that reasoning. 

“I will always love you, Cersei.” May the gods damn him for it, but he knew it would always be true. 

It’s why he would never deserve Celia. It’s why he didn’t love her. All his love was split amongst his children and Cersei. 

Before they left, Cersei became nicer to Celia, although Jaime could see the cruelness of it all.

“I hope it’s a girl,” Cersei told her before she left. “Then perhaps we can have a little bride for Tommen.”

Celia had smiled, but said nothing. Jaime knew she wanted their children to find love for themselves. Gods, he hoped for that too. 

—

When his sister was far enough away from Casterly Rock, Jaime held his wife in his arms.

“I’ve missed you.”

Celia wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m right here.”

Jaime cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. She froze for a moment before sinking into the kiss. It began chaste, merely his lips pressed to hers, as they had the last time they had kissed—in the sept on their wedding day. However, it evolved into so much more. 

His tongue glided across the seam of her lips and she opened her mouth to him. He pillaged the inside, fighting her tongue for dominance as her arms slid up his chest arms around his neck. She moaned against him as she tried to pull him closer. He knew she could feel his hardness against her and he knew what he needed and hoped she needed the same. 

Jaime reached down and began to pull up her skirt. Celia made quick work of pulling his shirt from his pants. She undid the laces of his trousers and reached in and grabbed his length. Jaime hissed and began to rut against her hand. 

“Gods, I want to be inside you,” he growled as he pulled away to breath, backing her against her vanity. “Paint your inside with my spend until you’re dripping with it.”

His lips descended upon hers once more and he moaned as her tongue invaded his mouth. Exploring it. Pillaging it. Drinking from it. She gasped when he lifted her up into the vanity, her legs wrapping around his hips, her hand still around his cock. He pulled at her wrist until she let go. He took both wrists and put them on his shoulders. 

“I need you to hold on, love,” he whispered hoarsely as he released her mouth. “I need you to hold on because I can’t hold back. I can’t.” He buried his face in her neck, beginning to nip and suck at the exposed skin. “Tell me if I’m hurting you—gods you’re already dripping.”

He pushed her thighs apart and could already feel how ready she was. Jaime sheathed himself with in her with a grunt. Celia’s arms were around his neck again, her fingers fisting in his hair. She cried out and he stilled for a moment before her heel dug into his back. Then, he let go. 

He began to pound into her. Pulling almost all the way out before sheathing himself back in again, bottoming out each time with a cry from Celia punctuating every thrust. His lips would slide up to hers and he would kiss her again, as though he had broken a dam and would not be able to stop until asked. 

“That’s it!” He roared as Celia’s nails began to dig into his back. “That’s it! Gods, love—” he needed more. He wanted more. He nipped at her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. 

Celia moaned. She took one of his hands that was clenching her thigh and slid it between them, spreading his fingers so they could both feel him disappearing in her. He felt her release and his vision went white. 

“Celia!”

When things became clear again, Celia was leaning back against the mirror, panting. Her eyes were closed, her hands resting on his hands. Her foot still pulling him slightly into rutting into her until he went soft. 

His hands went to her belly, holding her gently. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her hand, opening her eyes to his. Celia sat up and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck again.

Her kiss was so sweet and gentle that it almost made Jaime cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cersei admitting to Jaime that she tried to kill Celia. What did you guys think of that scene?  
Jaime forcing himself to sleep with Cersei.  
He said Celia’s name!  
He sent Cersei off with an excuse!  
And that last scene! Their first (second!) kiss in the entire fic so far!


	18. Celia IX

Celia watched as Vylarr cloaked Avari in green and silver. 

As a wedding present and a thank you for their service to his family, Tywin had sent a request to Robert that the two might be allowed to form their own house. The king had granted them the name Woodville. Avari and Celia had spent hours finding the right sigil for the new house. Avari, with the help of Vaylar, decided upon a silver butterfly upon a green shield. Vylarr had come up with their new house’s words.  _ Freedom.  _ It was a simple word, yet it meant so much. 

Celia smiled as Avari stood and took Vylarr’s hands in hers. When the Essosi man had asked Avari for her hand, Celia’s friend had said  _ yes  _ so quickly that she had coughed and said  _ yes  _ a little more slowly. 

Celia was happy for her friend and couldn’t wait for the two to start their own family soon. She knew how much Avari loved and wanted children of her own. 

Jaime had his hand on the small of her back as she leaned against him. “They’ll be very happy,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“They will.” Celia was certain of it.

—

Celia gasped as her husband continued his attention on the apex of her thighs. She gripped his hair tightly, grinding herself against his face as he groaned against her. The vibrations of his mouth tipped her over and she cried out in her release. His tongue lapped at her hungrily, as though he were a man in a desert and she were his chosen oasis. 

When he had licked her through her release, he pulled away, letting her legs slide off his shoulders. Jaime crawled up to her and pressed his lips against her own. Celia opened her mouth lazily as he plundered hers with slow tips of his tongue. She could taste herself and she shuddered as his fingers slid against her lower lips.

“Can you do it one more time, love? Two?”

She nodded and cried out as his fingers began to thrust into her heat. Her head rolled back as she moaned, his lips slid across the column of her neck, sucking marks into her skin.

“That’s it,” he growled as she neared her second release. “That’s it. Gods.”

She had barely finished when off of the bed, dragging her by the ankles to the edge. His pants were down and his cock stood at attention, looking almost painful. Jaime had her by the hips and sheathed himself to the hilt inside her. 

“Gods, you’re perfect.” He threw his head back and groaned as he began to rut into her. “So perfect.” The lazy drag of his cock sent shivers up Celia’s spine as she began to grope her breasts. “That’s it,” he encouraged. “Gods, look at you. So beautiful. You’re taking me so well, love. Like you were made for me.”

He was beginning to babble as he sometimes did when they were taking it slow. She loved it. Loved when he made her feel like the only woman in the world. When he made her feel like the most loved. She wished she could tell him how much she wanted him to go faster. Wished she could beg him to go harder. Instead, she pressed her heel into his back urging him onward. 

He did so. 

Jaime’s hips snapped into hers and Celia cried out with every thrust.  _ Yes,  _ she wanted to scream as he brought her to pleasure again.  _ Yes! _

“Celia—” He spilled into her, hot and fast. While still sheathed within her, Jaime bent over and pressed his face into the valley of her breasts.

She brushed her fingers through his hair and promptly fell asleep, boneless. 

—

_ Dearest Ce, _

_ I’m happy to announce that I am with child again! _

_ Ned was ecstatic when I told him. We’re still keeping it quiet since it is still in the early stages of the pregnancy, but I just had to tell you. It seems we are fated to have many children together. _

_ Love, _

_ Cat _

—

It was a new position. She sat astride him on his cock. His hands were at his hips as she rode him carefully, not wanting to jostle the baby too much. She gasped as he began to thrust up into her, bouncing her on his hips, barely leaving her body before plunging up. 

“Gods,” Jaime gasped. “You’re beautiful.” He grunted. “Just like that. Just like that!”

He kept hitting that place inside her and Celia had already come once like this already. She liked it, liked the way it made her feel. Loved the way she could see her husband come apart underneath her. She let her head fall back as she released a silent scream, her husband roaring his release up into her as well. 

—

Jaime rested his head on her large belly, his ear pressed against her. Sansa was next to him, her face buried against the fabric of her dress. Arthur was curled around Celia, his cheek rested against the top of her belly. Mya was behind Jaime, reading on his back. The girl had her arms around Celia’s, her eyes trained in her belly, waiting for movement.

While Celia could feel the baby flutter, it would be a while before the others could feel anything. Even so, Celia felt content in her family’s embrace. 

—

She was on her knees, gripping the headboard of their bed. Jaime was behind her, thrusting up into her with heated strokes. Celia had become ravenous in her need for him and he had seemed to match her need with enthusiasm. 

His hands were on her hips guiding her to meet him thrust for thrust. “So tight,” he ground out. “So perfect. Gods, Celia.”

She brought one of his hands to her breast and squeezed. He groaned as he began to fondle her. 

“Fit so well,” he panted. 

She was out of breath as well, returning her grip to the headboard. Celia moaned. 

_ Yes. Yes! _

She came apart for him and he came soon after. 

—

Celia froze as she felt the baby move. She had felt the baby flutter for a while now, however this felt so much stronger. Carefully putting her hand on her stomach, Celia  _ felt  _ a kick to her hand. She smiled brightly. 

“Ari, could you go get, Jaime and send him to his study? The baby is moving and I want him to feel it.”

Avari smiled. “Are you that far along already, Ce? Gods, it won’t be but a few more months and we’ll have the little one here yet. I’ll go get your husband now.”

The two women went their separate ways. Celia made her way to her husband’s study, smiling the entire way.

—

“You wanted to see me, love?” Jaime asked as he entered the study. 

_ Love.  _ Celia did not know whether to laugh or cry. “I have saved every letter you have ever given me,” Celia said softly. “I… I knew our marriage was arranged, a way for you to escape punishment for killing King Aerys. Even so, I kept every letter. I thought it would be something to show the children one day. Show how their parents built a marriage that turned from duty to caring and maybe even love. I had thought, perhaps, you thought the same.”

“Celia?”

“Dearest Cersei,” she read. She had not meant to find the letter, but it had been so easy to, placed on top of his others in his drawer. She had found it when putting away some of his other correspondents. Ignorance would have been preferred, but now there was no going back. “I believe a betrothal is too soon.  _ Our  _ son and my daughter haven’t even begun their first year of life.” Each word built a wall around her heart, one so ready to be torn down when she was told such words were false. She looked up and found all color had drained from her husband’s face. So, he did know of this unfinished letter.  _ Tell me it’s wrong.  _ “Is this true?” Her voice shook.

“Celia—”

She stood up from his chair and went to him, thrusting the paper to his chest. “Is this true? Is Joffrey  _ your  _ son?”

He looked away from her. 

_ No, look at me! Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me this is wrong.  _ She wanted him to hold her, to press kisses to her face and tell her that she was wrong that this letter wasn’t his. That this was someone who wished to discredit him. 

“He is.”

Celia stumbled away from him.  _ His.  _ The son he had been present for. The son he had chosen over Sansa. The tears finally began to slide down her cheeks. As the wall around her heart began to crumble, the debris weighing on her chest. “Myrcella and Tommen?”

_ Robert’s. Tell me! Tell me you only went to her so soon after we were married! _

“Mine.”

Celia gasped, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked away. She felt his hand on her shoulder and she yanked herself away. “Don’t  _ touch  _ me!” She wrapped her arms protectively around their unborn child.  _ Her  _ child. The child she had thought would he born out of love. 

“Celia, please—”

“ _ Don’t  _ take another step in my direction,” Celia held her hands out to separate them, as though he were an enemy coming to attack. When he froze, she wrapped her arms around her belly. “Don’t think you can talk your way out of this, Ser Jaime.” Gods, she had not called him that in years. 

“Celia, please. I have loved Cersei since I was a boy. Robert was abusive in the beginning. I—”

“So you fucked her to make it better?” Her husband looked jarred by her word choice. “No,” she laughed. “That’s wrong, shall I use your word then? You made  _ love  _ to her to make it better?” Something clicked into place. “Is that why you were already a mess on our wedding night?”  _ Tell me it isn’t true.  _ “Is that where you went after you fucked me like a whore?”

His expression was utterly broken. “Celia—”

“Gods. Oh, gods.” She turned away from him again as sobs began to wrack her body. “Is that why you took me from behind?” She asked. “So you could imagine it was  _ her _ ? When we made our son, our daughter, this child, was it always her? Did you imagine I was Cersei? Was that the only way you could stomach fucking me?”

“Celia, I— Please. It started out that way, but—”

“But what?” She turned on him. “But you felt pity for me? Poor  _ little fish _ .” He winced. “She’s never been with a man before. She’ll never know anything else. I suppose I should appease her in some ways. Treat her as a whore, she won’t know the difference.”

“You aren’t a whore, Celia,” Ser Jaime pleaded. 

“You treated me as one! As some mistress you have kept in your bed while—” The baby kicked and her eyes fluttered closed. She wrapped her one arm around her belly, the other hand went to the desk and helped lower herself into the floor as another sob tore at her throat. Gods, the children. The children!

Ser Jaime was by her side in an instant. “Celia, please, it might have been like that in the beginning, but I never—”

“Never what?!” Her gaze snapped back to him. “Never took me to bed because you couldn’t claim your children with her? Never treated me as though I were the dirt beneath your feet afterwards? Treated me as though I was an inconvenience whenever I needed something?”

“I never lied to you,” he urged. “I never said I loved you.”

Celia felt whatever strength she had in her body crumble within her. Her heart was torn as though a lion had ravaged it with its teeth and claws. “But  _ I  _ loved  _ you _ , Ser Jaime.” There was nothing left in her to cry for. There had never been anything to cry for. Nothing real, anyway. “But I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t hate me!
> 
> So... yeah. That happened. At least Avari and Vylarr are married. 😅  
Now we’re going to hit a very long dry spell when it comes to Jaime and Celia. A long one.   
We’re going to finish the confrontation in Jaime’s chapter next. I know plenty of you are probably HATING on Jaime right now, and you’re right to. Just know he didn’t mean that in the end. Well, he did, but at the same time he didn’t. He was telling Cersei the truth when he said Celia didn’t love him. He truly thought she didn’t because he doesn’t feel worthy of it. You’ll see next chapter. Either way, Jaime has a long road ahead of him. 
> 
> And if anyone is wondering, Cersei made sure the unfinished letter was easy to find. 
> 
> Also, after next chapter, updates will be a little slower since I want to work on other fics as well and I NEED to finish school applications by the end of this month. Sorry for the inconvenience!


	19. Jaime X

“But _ I _ loved _ you _, Ser Jaime,” she said, her voice hollow and quiet. She looked at him, her eyes void of any of the care she had once given him. “But I loved you.”

Her voice echoed in his mind. 

Loved him. No, that was impossible. He was… he was worthless, less than worthless. He didn’t, nor ever would, deserve a woman like her. How could it even be possible that someone like her could ever love a man like him. How? He had been so certain that it was impossible, he had never imagined—

His heart ached in his chest. 

“Celia, please— I… things are different now.”

“Different?” Celia huffed out a laugh. She reached for the desk to pull herself up, refusing his offered hand. “Please, Ser, tell me what is different.” She managed to stand on her own. “It all makes sense now, your sister’s cruel words. I suppose I am to understand this child was a mistake. An accident you did not mean to have.”

She wrapped her arms around her bulging belly and Jaime felt sick. She was protecting their child from _ him. _“Celia, it’s not like that! Please, just listen—”

“No! I’ve listened to you for almost four years! I’ve let you speak your way into my heart and rip it from my chest and toss it aside.” She was no longer crying, but she sounded so very broken. “Based on your words I had let myself believe that you cared, that you loved me in your own way, but now I see that I was wrong. You do not get to speak! You do not get to talk your way out of this! This was your decision. You made your bed.” She shuddered at the word. “Lie in it. For I will never play the part of your wife again.”

Jaime’s eyes widened. No. No. No! He held her by the arms. “No, Celia! Please don’t—” _ Leave me _. 

“Tell?” she finished for him. She laughed callously. “And who would I tell that does not put our children, _ my _ children, at risk? If people knew, do you have any idea what that would do to them, to their prospects? My son would lose all the respect he will have earned as _ your heir _ . Sansa will be considered worthless and this child…” She took in a sharp breath. “You have trapped me, Ser. Do not worry, I will tell no one. I will _honor _you and take no lovers and give my bed or body to anyone. Unlike you, I will not risk the livelihood of my children. I will do my _duty _to you and play the part of wife when we are in public. That is my lot in this life for I swore vows that I intend to uphold. In all things I will be your wife and in law and name. In no other ways will I view you as my husband. You have forfeit all rights to my heart! You forfeit the place in our bed! You can sleep in your study for all I care! From this moment on I am not your wife, but a stranger you must learn to live with. I will be a mother to your children, this _ family, _ for they have done nothing and are innocent of all you have done.”

Jaime felt his voice lodge in his throat. “Celia,” he choked out. “Please…”

“When the time comes, _ you _ can explain to the children the pain and embarrassment _ you _put their mother through.” She looked up at him in such anger and hatred that he could no longer speak. “Men always work on their legacy, but when will you learn that they are your legacy! We are your legacy!”

“Ce—”

She stormed to the fire and threw the unfinished letter into the fire. Celia turned to him, her red hair illuminated by the flames. “Congratulations, you are free of me, Ser. You need not force yourself to pretend you have ever cared for me. Feel free to return to your Cersei and the children you so obviously prefer.” She put a hand to her stomach, reaching with the other and pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket. She thrust it into his chest, letting go before he had time to hold it. “You need not pretend you ever wanted us.”

His wife turned and left him in the study, the world around Jaime felt as though it had gone silent and still.

—

Jaime did not know how long her stood there, letting Celia’s words sink into his skin like bruises. He felt dirty. He felt like scum of the earth. He bent over, fisting at his hair. No. This could not be over. He could not have lost her. 

The only woman he ever truly lo—

Jaime opened his eyes, pain seeping into his very bones. The only woman he had ever loved.

A humorless laugh escaped his lips. Now he saw it. Now he saw those feelings he had mistaken for caring were truly love. The lust he had felt towards his wife was the need to make her feel good, to feel cherished. Love is what made him put her pleasure always before his own. 

And now he has lost her. Lost her because he was a stupid man who never learned. A stupid man who had thought he loved his sister because she was the only women he had known for so long. A woman who once had dreams of Rhaegar, then Robert. A woman who would always throw him away for a crown she craved. A woman who loved him because he was easy, because he had given up a family in a time when he had not even thought far enough ahead for. 

Jaime looked down at the handkerchief Celia had dropped. He bent down and picked it up. It was _ his _handkerchief, something his mother had made for him when he was a child. He had not seen it in years. Why did Celia have it?

Suddenly, the memory stirred. The smell of fire and burnt flesh seering into his nostrils, screams of agony echoing across his mind. A girl crying in the gardens. He had offered her the handkerchief, not once thinking of ever having it returned. The girl had thanked him. She had asked if he was alright and he had almost answered but Ser Arthur had called him away. 

Gods. He had met his wife before. He had been kind to her before. She had been kind to him. He had known her for so much longer. If he had just remembered her. 

Jaime roared in anguish. His vision as red as his house colors, letting himself disappear in his anger. 

When he came into himself again, his study was in ruins. His desk was turned over, the papers scattered across the floor. Any letter he had received from Cersei burning in the crackling fire. 

Jaime fell to his knees in the chaos.

This was his fault. His fault. 

He had given himself once more to Cersei for almost nothing. 

Pain bloomed in his chest as a sob tore from his lips. Gods, he loved his wife and now she would no longer be his. She could never be his. Cersei still threatened her, still threatened Celia. He could not endanger her so. 

Jaime buried his face in his hands, wishing to disappear inside. Make the pain stop. But he deserved it. He deserved all of it. 

—

His wife moved from their rooms in the time that it took Jaime to clean up the physical mess he had made. When he entered his rooms for the night, any trace of her was gone. It was as though she were never there. 

It hurt. It hurt so much. 

Jaime curled up on her side of the bed and fell asleep in sheets that still smelled vaguely of her. 

—

Jaime took Arthur and Mya to the horse track, making sure the Mountain was elsewhere. The two children enjoyed petting the horses and watching them race. While Arthur was still a little young, Mya had begun to learn how to ride. Robert has gifted her a pony to learn on during his last visit. 

Mya and Arthur watched the stablehand with rapt attention as he explained how to take care of the animal. Jaime had to smile. His children were smart, much more clever than he was. His father had commented as much when Jaime gave Tywin reports on the goings on of the keep. 

“Uncle Jaime?”

“Yes, Mya?” He glanced at Arthur, who was being held by the stablehand to pet the horse before turning his full attention to Mya.

“Are you and Aunt Celia fighting?”

His throat tightened. “Why would you think that, sweetling?”

“You don’t share a room anymore.”

“No, we don’t,” Jaime nodded. 

“So does that mean you’re fighting?”

“In a way.”

“Why?”

“It’s a grownup thing,” he told her. Jaime ruffled Mya’s dark curls. “You don’t need to worry about it. Okay?”

Mya watched him for a long moment before nodding, returning her attention to the horse. 

—

“Someone has upset their wife,” Tyrion said casually as he sat in Jaime’s study to work on some of the things the maester had given him to work on. 

“And why do you say that, little brother?”

“If it weren’t for the fact that she’s moved to the other room again, it’s obvious that you haven’t been laid in a good long while. Well, outside using your hand.”

Jaime grit his teeth together. “Is there a point to your observation?”

Tyrion shrugged. “An observation doesn’t necessarily need a point.”

Jaime sighed. “Shall we go visit Lannisport? I feel like getting out of the keep for just a moment.”

Tyrion shrugged. “Why not.”

Along the way, Jaime and Tyrion came upon a woman being accosted. Already in a sour mood, Jaime chased down the men who fled at the sight of them. Once he had apprehended the men, he returned to check on his brother and the girl they had rescued, only to find them both gone. 

—

Jaime spent some time with Sansa. His darling girl had brightened when she saw him, reaching for him so he would pick her up. He held her in his arms, holding her tight. 

She looked so much like her mother already, save for the eyes. They were as green as his own. 

“One day, when you’re old enough, we’ll help you find a match worthy of you. Someone brave, gentle, and strong.” He kissed her red hair. “Someone not like me. Never like me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that things will go a little more slowly update wise after this.
> 
> What did you guys think of the end of the confrontation?  
Jaime realizing he loves Celia?  
Him going to their rooms alone?  
Spending time with Mya and Arthur?  
The Tysha incident happened! For some reason I thought it happened before the rebellion. The situation will continue in the next chapter.  
Jaime not wanting Sansa to marry someone like him! 😭😭😭


	20. Celia X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m 24 today! Happy birthday to me!

The servants felt the shift in Celia’s marriage just as she did.

Ser Jaime began leaving flowers for her daily. A rose, a daisy, lavender. It differed depending on the day. She would find them laid out on her pillow. Celia has inquired if her husband ever entered her rooms. She was told he did not and had Mya or Arthur place the flowers there. 

At one point in their marriage, Celia might have found it charming. But now it felt hollow. 

She would not share his secret. She would not risk her children or their place in this world. He did not need to bribe her with gifts of flowers. 

Those were the actions of a lover. 

Ser Jaime did not love her. 

And what little love remained in her heart belonged to their children. 

—

They learned two weeks later that Tyrion had married the girl he and Jaime had rescued. Celia had never been more afraid of Lord Tywin in all her years at Casterly Rock. Her good father was furious. So much so that Celia pressed a hand to her belly, as though to shield her child from its grandfather’s rage. 

She knew that Lord Tywin has never cared for his younger son. She could almost understand, and yet she could not. Once upon a time she could not imagine a life without Ser Jaime by her side but now she had to learn to live with it. A part of her hated his other children, the children he had made with his sister. 

Once the infidelity had settled in the recognition of who he had made his bed with had sunk in. Avari had found her crying in her rooms as Celia burned every single letter Ser Jaime had even given her. She even burned the red shawl he had given her for the pregnancy with Sansa. She would rather grow cold than accept any warmth from him. 

Sometimes she hated the children he had made with Cersei. But then she remembered that they were innocent of their parents’ crimes. Innocent as her own were. It was not their fault that Ser Jaime loved them more. 

She listened as her good father raged. Then she heard his plans for the girl. 

“You cannot!” Celia shouted. 

See Jaime winced from where he stood and Lord Tywin froze. 

“Cannot?” her good father said carefully. 

“You cannot punish the girl. Annul the marriage if you must but she should not come to harm.” She stood straighter, hand on her belly. “What if she is with child. Your grandchild?”

“It would be no grandchild of mine,” Lord Tywin said tightly. 

“Call Tyrion back to Casterly Rock. Let me handle the poor girl.”

“And what will you do?” Jaime asked. “Ce—my lady, you are too close to giving birth to head down to where they live.”

“I am well enough to walk and talk, Ser.” Her husband winced at her tone. 

“And your plan?” Lord Tywin urged.

“The Septon will annul the marriage, I have no doubt you have your ways,” she said. “You will inform Tyrion of this while I am speaking to his wife. I will convince her it is better for her to find sanctuary with my eldest sister and her lord husband in the North. Should she be with child, I will send money to care for her and them. If there is not a child, I will still send money for the girl to have a dowry, should she wish to get remarried.”

“What will you need?” her good father asked. 

“A small carriage that will escort her North and a part of my allowance to give to her for the journey.”

“Done.”

“Let me be the one to speak to Tyrion afterwards,” Celia said gently. “He deserves to hear it with kindness.l

She felt bad for her younger good brother, but she knew that such a marriage would not be able to continue. It was not fair for the girl to be stuck within their strict family and it was not fair to Tyrion to earn any more of his father’s ire. She was protecting them both. She prayed to all the gods that this was the right decision. 

—

Dear Cat,

While I plan on sending you another letter to arrive before the one holding this does, I shall still reiterate the contents of the other letter in case it somehow becomes lost. 

The girl carrying this letter is named Tysha. She ran into a group of horrible men and was rescued by my husband and good brother during one of their rides into Lannisport. She married Lord Tyrion, however my good father does not approve of the marriage and is having it annulled due to the septon being drunk upon their union and there being no witnesses. They were married for two weeks and am unsure if there will be any child that may come from this union. 

I am sending money with her that might help with the costs, whether it be for the babe or herself. I will send monthly payments to you where they can be either be used for the babe or a dowry in case she wishes to get married again. 

Be kind to her Cat. Although I know her not, she isn’t at fault for what has become of her situation. I fear this place is a true lion’s den and she might be swallowed while should she continue to live here. Let her find a position in your keep. 

Also, if a child does come from the union, please give them the name Hill, unless the mother wishes otherwise or, should she remarry, the stepfather wishes the babe to take his own name. 

I pray you and your own babe are well. I am nearing the end of my own pregnancy and the maester said I have barely a month to go before this child comes. 

Give my love to sweet Ned and my beautiful niece and nephews. 

Your loving sister,

Ce

—

Celia knocked on the door as soon as she saw Tyrion leave far enough away on his horse. She felt the baby kick and she rubbed her belly soothingly. Her first letter to Cat had already been sent. She prayed the raven was swift. 

The door opened and Celia found a girl not much older than Tyrion standing before her. She was a pretty girl dark hair and tanned skin. If Celia were to guess, the girls family may have hailed from Myr. She looked sweet and innocent. 

The girl looked up at Celia, her face turned ashen. 

“I mean you no harm,” she said gently. “May I come in?”

The girl looked down at Celia’s bulging belly and nodded, letting Celia into the quaint little cottage. “May I help you, my lady?”

“I am here to help you,” Celia replied. “Your name is Tysha, correct?” The girl nodded. “I am Celia Lannister, Tyrion is my good brother.”

Her eyes grew big. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Celia’s heart broke. “No, sweet girl. I may be a lion by marriage, but I am a trout at heart. And even in these circumstances, you are my family now.”

“Why are you here?”

Celia took the girl’s hands in hers. “Lord Tyrion’s father is having the marriage annulled, more so he is making it as though it never happened.”

Tears began to spring from Tysha’s deep brown eyes and Celia gathered the girl into her arms as a mother might. “I am so sorry, but I cannot fight my good father’s will and I cannot allow you to be torn apart by the lions.” From her cloak she pulled out the letter to Cat and a purse of gold coins. “Take these and I have a carriage waiting for you just down the road. It will take you Morth to my eldest sister and her husband. They will take you into their home. You and your child, if you carry one.”

“Cannot Tyrion come with me?” Tysha cried, not taking the purse or the letter.

“No, sweet girl, he can’t.”

“But I love him!” She buried her face into her hands and sobbed. “He is my hero, like in the songs. I love him and he loves me!”

Celia lifted the girl’s face and smiled sadly. “Life is not like the songs, sweetling. Songs make sad tales sound sweet.” The girl continued to cry and Celia rubbed her back gently. “If you are, indeed, with child, think of them. Lord Tywin will give you no support. At least your child will have a chance at a good life in the North. Find happiness, Tysha. Even if one door closes, another might open.” It took a few more sweet words to convince the girl. “One of my companions, a woman named Avari, is waiting for you by the carriage.” She kissed Tysha’s cheek. “My sister and good brother will be waiting for you.”

“What of Tyrion?”

Celia loved this girl who loved her good brother so. “He will be fine. He will continue his dreams of dragons, I am sure. Now, go.”

Celia waited in the house Tyrion had made for himself. Minutes later Avari entered. “She left, the poor girl. She was still sobbing when she left.”

“She is leaving the man she loves,” Celia said. “Her heart is broken.”

“Damn lions,” Avari said with venom. “I think the children are the only good ones.”

Celia smiled and rubbed her belly. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

Family. Duty. Honor. 

—

Celia waited with Avari in the cottage. 

The door burst open and Tyrion ran through. He looked so distraught and Celia’s heart broke for him. 

“Where is she?!” He roared, tears in his eyes. 

“She’s gone, Tyrion,” Celia said gently, standing from her seat. 

“No! You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” She took a breath. A kind lie. He needed to move on. He needed to not hold onto her. If he held on, Lord Tywin might make her life more difficult up north. “Your father offered her money and she took it. She’s gone, Tyrion.”

“No! She loved me! She loved me!”

“I’m sorry, Tyrion.” He pulled at his hair and screamed. Celia went to comfort him. 

“Don’t touch me!” He lashed out, pushing her away. 

Avari screamed as Celia fell to the ground. Her friend rushed to her to help her up while Tyrion looked at her in horror. 

“Ce! Are you alright?” 

“I…” She felt a wetness between her legs. Celia saw water on the floor where she had fallen. “My water broke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime trying to stay connected.  
The Tysha incident comes to a head.  
Should Tysha have a baby? If so, a boy or a girl?  
The baby’s coming! 😱
> 
> Also, if you check out my tumblr in this fic tag, you’ll see I made a few moodboards yesterday.


	21. Jaime XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to start updating every Sunday and Saturday. I might throw in a chapter or two during the week occasionally.

The keep was in chaos. 

When news of his wife’s water breaking reached them, everything went to the seven hells. Celia was rushed as quickly as she could back into Casterly Rock. Vylarr had her in his arms when he came in, a pale Tyrion behind him with Avari crying and nearly inconsolable. Jaime had taken his wife into his arms and rushed her to his rooms, which were closer. He did not care if they became a mess, his wife needed to lay down. 

Celia was crying and screaming at the pain. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He could see blood blooming across the skirt of her dress and Jaime could hear nothing against the roar of blood in his ears. 

_ It’s too early _ , his brain screamed.  _ The baby is too early.  _

He was panicking, he knew that. He should not have let her go alone, no matter how much she had not wanted him with her. He should have insisted. How had this even happened? He pushed the thoughts away and focused on his wife. Celia needed him now. She needed him to be present. 

Jaime set his wife down onto his bed as the maester hurried to them. “I fear the child has been dislodged,” the old man said. “We need to get the baby out quickly.”

“Please,” Celia sobbed. “Please, please, please,  _ please _ .” 

“Induce the labor then,” Jaime ordered. “Do whatever your have to to save my wife and child.”

“Yes, Ser,” the maester nodded. 

“You need to leave now, Ser,” a midwife said. “The birthing room is no place—”

Jaime ignored the woman and turned to his wife, kneeling next to her on the bed and taking her hand in his. “Tell me to leave now, Celia. Tell me to leave and I will pace outside.” 

Celia was still crying and Jaime did not know if she would have wanted him there under better circumstances. However she squeezed his hand tightly. 

“Stay,” she cried, her blue eyes were clouded with worry, her red hair plastered to her face with sweat. 

“Then I shall stay.” He turned and glared at everyone else in the room as they began to work before returning his attention to Celia. “It’s going to be okay, love.”

“Jaime…” 

“Shhhh…”

“I still… want the same names…”

“You’ll be the first to name them,” he assured her.

“She needs to drink this,” the midwife said, handing her a cup of some sort of tea. 

“What is it?” Jaime asked, helping Celia take a sip. 

“Steeped herbs that will help induce contractions quickly.”

Jaime nodded as Celia continued to cry. He kissed her hand. “It’s going to be alright, love. It’s going to be alright.”

He let her squeeze his hand as the contractions began, praying to all the gods that listened that both Celia and their babe would be alright. 

—

Joanna Lannister was born in the early evening, just as the sun began to set along the horizon. She had wisps of golden hair. While her eyes were a shocking blue, the maester seemed to think that they might darken into a green as Sansa’s had. She was small too. So small that Jaime had worried. 

“She may have breathing problems,” the maester had said. “Most children born too early do. She might not be able to run around as often as the little lord and lady do, but I shall keep an eye on her.”

Jaime held his youngest daughter in his arms. He pressed soft kisses to her face as she wiggled in his arms. She was beautiful, this daughter they made out of love. He kissed her again. He was so sorry he had ruined this for them, ruined the chance to be the father she and Sansa and Arthur and even Mya’s chance of having him be the man he should have been, could have been. 

Jaime carried the baby to Celia who was still exhausted from birth. “She’s beautiful, love,” he said, carefully handing the baby to his wife. “You did so well.”

Celia looked at the little girl in her arms. “Joanna,” she said with a smile. “My little Joanna.”

Jaime bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of Celia’s head. “I’ll go tell the children you’re alright. I’ll let you bond with Joanna.”

She nodded, not looking at him. 

He watched her for a moment before turning to let the midwives and maester finish their business. 

“How is she?” his father asked, little Sansa in his arms. 

Jaime took his oldest daughter and pressed a kiss to her red curls. “They’re both fine. Joanna Lannister was born with a little complication, but the maester said she would be healthy, we just need to keep an eye on her breathing.”

He saw his father’s shoulders sag in relief. Jaime’s four year old son went to him and held onto his pants. “Mama okay?”

Jaime smiled down at his son. “‘Mother’s okay.” He knelt down and hugged his two older children. He looked over and saw Mya shifting on her feet. “Come here.”

She came to him quickly and Jaime wrapped his arms around all three of them. “Can we go in?” Maya asked. 

“Just a moment,” he said. “It was hard on her, we don’t want to overwhelm her.”

The children nodded. 

—

Celia was underneath him and he knew it was a dream. A cruel one, but one he did not want to wake from. She was crying out his name as he pounded the air out of her lunges. Gods. He touched her body and missed it. 

_ Celia _ . Her name was a prayer on his lips. She was no goddess but he would worship her like one. His alter were her hips and pressed where he would pour all his devotion into. 

Jaime woke up with a groan, his cock hard and wanting. 

He knew some men would just go to their wife’s rooms and take their marital rights then and there. He knew Rhaegar had. He knew full well Aerys did. Jaime closed his eyes and pushed those men away. 

_ Burn them all.  _

He fisted at his cock and began to work himself to a release. 

_ You’re a good man, Ser Jaime. _

“Celia—” Her name came out with a grunt on his release. 

He could do with his hand. Unless Cersei threatened his wife and children again, Jaime would take no woman but his wife into his bed. Even if Cersei forced him once more, he would close his eyes and think of Celia and his children. He would do anything to protect them. 

—

While Celia continued to heal from the birth, Jaime spent time distracting his other children with games and trips to Lannisport. 

Mya was seven and had become more active. Although his father didn’t really approve, he gave her sword lessons. For all that she was the king's daughter and Jaime’s own daughter in all ways but blood, he knew that her bastard status would give men the reason to think she was not wanted. If he didn’t know that Cersei might bring harm to all of his family, Jaime would have asked Robert to have her legitimized. Even so, he daughter the sword, and, from what Jaime could already see, she was going to be good. 

At four, Arthur was taking his lessons with reluctance, but Jaime occasionally sat in on his lessons so his son could see they were really important. Jaime smiled at the memory at his son’s shock as he watched Jaime taking “notes” during the lessons. Arthur was his heir. Jaime knew that meant there would be certain roads his son could not take. However, Jaime wanted to give his son as much freedom as possible. He wanted to give his son a happier childhood than his own.

At two, Sansa was truly beginning to babble. She had even found her favorite phrase.  _ Love you _ . She said it to almost anyone and everything that passed her by. Sansa Lannister has the entire keep wrapped around her pinky toe. She waved to everyone and told them  _ love you _ . Most of the servants would bow and curtsy to the little lady and say they loved her too. It made Jaime smile.

Joanna was small still and the maester didn’t like her leaving the keep, Jaime would walk the babe around and rubbed her back whenever she napped on his chest. The maester said it would help her lungs. Jaime hopes his daughter would grow up healthy. 

Jaime did not force himself into Celia’s bed chambers, but continued to send her flowers. He ordered more lemon trees to be planted in the gardens so they wouldn’t have to rely so heavily on Dorne for the amount they often needed for his wife. Although she might crave them less now that she was no longer pregnant, but Jaime wanted his wife to want for nothing. 

She should want for nothing. 

—

Jaime woke up to the sound of crying echoing across the stones of the keep. He sat up and got out of bed. The crying continued and grew louder as he left his rooms and went towards Celia’s. He paused for a moment before knocking. 

“Come in,” her voice frantic. 

He entered and found his wife hobbling around her room trying to calm their crying daughter. Celia’s eyes were full of tears as she did so. Jaime wasn’t even certain she registered that  _ he  _ had been the one to enter the room. 

“She won’t stop crying,” his wife sobbed. “She won’t stop.” Jaime we go Celia and took their daughter from her arms and into his own. “No—”

“This isn’t helping either of you,” he said gently. Jaime guided her to her bed. “You need to lay down and rest. Is this a hungry cry?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then you can  _ sleep _ . You need that too.” He tucked his wife into her sheets once she settled. 

“Joanna—”

“I won’t leave the room,” he assured her. “I’ll walk her around the room. Just rest. The maester said you haven’t fully healed yet.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I asked so I would know how to help you.” He smiled at her reassuringly. “Just rest.”

Jaime began to rock their crying daughter as he walked around the room. Her small fists waved in the air, occasionally hitting him in the chest. Jaime pressed soft kisses to her eyes as he whispered things to her. 

“We have to let your mother sleep, sweetling. She worked really hard to bring you into this world. How about we just bother your old father here and let your mother sleep.” He continued to rock her as he shifted her only slightly. His daughter’s cries were lessening. “That’s it, sweetling. Mother will still be here when you wake up next. But let’s let her sleep for a bit. Okay? There’s my little girl. You’re definitely a lion with those lungs. That maester doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He could tell that his daughter was exhausting herself. He noticed the way she would pant between cries as though finding air difficult to find. It broke his heart. “Just sleep for a little bit longer, sweet girl. Just a little bit and everything will be okay.”

Jaime continued to rock her until Joanna finally drifted to sleep. He glanced over and found Celia passed out under her sheets, exhaustion finally catching up to her. He tucked their daughter into her crib before checking on Celia. She was still in a deep sleep and Jaime pulled more covers over her to keep her warm. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Celia,” he breathed against her hair. “I love you.”

He left the room soon after that and returned to his own. He fell asleep, wishing there was some way he could find some way for Celia to forgive him. She would never have to invite him to her bed again. She didn’t have to ever love him again, but Jaime missed his wife. 

He missed his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime staying by Celia’s side only if she wanted him.  
Jaime letting Celia be the first one to call their daughter by her name. Little Joanna!  
Jaime really misses his wife.  
The children are growing up!  
Jaime letting Celia sleep! 😭
> 
> Next chapter will begin with a slight summary. There’s going to be a two year time skip in the first part. Can you guess what’s going to happen?


	22. Celia XI

Two years seemed to go buy quickly for Celia.

Perhaps it was because her focus remained solely on her children who had grown so quickly in the past two years. Ser Jaime had been such a constant, even when he had gone to King’s Landing. Life had felt slower. 

She hated herself for it, but she missed him. Missed the husband she thought loved her. She missed his arms wrapped firmly around her as they slept. She missed the way his lips slid across her skin as he made his way down her body. She missed the way her brought her to pleasure over and over. She missed the hand that held hers whenever they walked the gardens together. She missed the man who defended her. She missed her friend. 

Her bed felt lonely at nights and sometimes she wanted to believe the flowers he left her men and something. She wanted to believe he loved her. Sometimes she wanted to go to his rooms and beg him to take her as he had in the beginning. Let him imagine she was Cersei. She just wanted him in any way she could have him. 

But she never went near his rooms. She found relief with her fingers, although it wasn’t enough. Never enough. In those moments she often found herself in tears. Of course she was not enough. She hadn’t been enough for him. How could she be enough in that way? 

She missed him. 

And she hated herself for it. 

At least Ser Jaime did not neglect the children. He spent every moment available to him with their children. He helped Mya is her growing interest in archery. Even if it wasn’t his preferred choice of weapon. He took Arthur to his meetings and helped their son learn what he must do as heir. Ser Jaime took an interest in their son’s love of learning and hired another tutor who taught in Valyrian for their son. He spent time with Sansa, indulging in her games of monsters and maidens. He got her tutors as well to help her growing interest in history and so forth. Even Lord Tywin had found interest in Sansa’s noticeable intelligence. And with little Joanna, Ser Jaime doted on and held her whenever he could. He loved that little girl. 

Celia wished she knew what it was like to receive such love and attention from her husband, but at least he was being a father to their children. It’s all she could truly ask for. 

Ser Jaime and Lord Tywin has made plenty of trips to King’s Landing over the past two years. It was always at the request of Robert, who called the lords able to come three times a year to help see what needed to be done to keep the lands in check. Ser Jaime would say goodbye to all of them, leaving Celia for last. He would kiss her hand and tell her he would return soon and ask that she write him. She rarely did unless she needed to inform him of something. 

She hated imagining him entangled with his sister. Hate the thought of him bearing himself to her and  _ seeing  _ her in their couplings. She hated how she aches for him. She hated how he had never even given them a chance. 

When he and Lord Tywin would return, Celia would await the news that the queen was with child once more. But such news never came. 

—

Ser Jaime and Lord Tywin were, once again, away from Casterly Rock. Celia sat down for a moment on one of the stone benches as she watched her children play. Avari sat beside her, cradling her growing belly with her hand. 

At nine, Mya was all smiles and muddy skirts. While Celia attempted to instil some courtly courtesies, she could see that such things were not Mya’s interests. The girl was wild and headstrong, but had such a determined look about her when it came to what was right and what was wrong. She often got the children of the servants included in her games and Celia admired her for that. She was like her father in many ways, she took after him as well. Her dark curly hair and big blue eyes. Celia knew full well that she would break a few hearts some day. She was half-inclined that the first might be her son. 

At six, Arthur was still coming into his childhood, but he did so with the pride of a lion. He always wanted to keep up with Mya and her own games as well. He looked as Ser Jaime did when he was a child, save for the eyes. At least, this is what all the servants seemed to agree on. While still not allowed to hold live steel, Celia could see that he had inherited his father’s natural ability at the sword. It was almost graceful. Celia and Avari often served as the princesses he was determined to protect. Joanna has joined them as princesses, but Celia enjoyed watching her son’s noble heart shine through in his games. 

At four, Sansa had already been a lady for a year. She was always so courteous and eager to please. While she loved nothing more than the tales of knightly valor, she loved the history shared in them. Servants twittered about saying she looked like Celia, save for the eyes, but Celia knew her daughter would grow to be much more beautiful than herself. While she never particularly cared for the games her brother and Mya played, she would always take part in some way or another. She was a sweet girl and her daughter’s need to please always worried her. It had appeared to worry Ser Jaime also. He would always sit her down after a song or tale of heroes and remind her that life was not always like the songs and that she needed to think before doing anything reckless. Sansa would just smile and hug her father and say she knew. 

At two, little Joanna was the the little jewel of Casterly Rock. She was her father’s daughter and Celia had learned rather quickly that the girl adored her father more than anything. When he was away and could not rock her to sleep, Jaime had given Celia one of his shirts to wear in order to let her smell of him so their daughter might sleep. She was a sweet child, but she had a temper on her that matched Arthur’s when he had been a babe. Even so, as she napped in Celia’s arms, she could not regret having a child. 

Sometimes, she wished there was a chance she might have one more. Just one, but she knew she would not. She would not give herself to her husband again and she would not dishonor him as he had dishonored her. She would not. She could not. 

Gods how she hated that her heart and body longed for him still. 

“Mother!”

Celia looked up at the sound of her son’s distress. Her eyes widened as she stood, looking upon the scene with horror. In the distance, she could see the sea of Lannisport on fire. Lannister ships with sails of red were alight— _ burn them all _ —with black sails with krakens sailed through the flames as though the sea themselves protected them. 

“Gods,” Avari whispered at the sight. 

Blood began to roar in Celia’s ears. 

They were under attack. 

—

Casterly Rock was in chaos as the soldiers attempted to ready the keep for a possible siege. Celia ushered the children inside and handed Joanna to Avari. 

“Ce, you—”

“I need to make certain everything is ready,” Celia said quickly. “I need you to get the children to safety. Go to the chambers under the sept and lead the other women and children there. There should be enough room for everyone.”

“My lady—”

“Go!”

She forced Avari to flee as the rest of the staff who could not fight made their way to their refuge. She ignored her children’s cries for her as Celia rushes against them the tide of people, trying to make sure that all that needed to be done was. She searched and found—

“Vylarr!”

The Essosi man turned. “My lady, you should be inside!”

“I am the lady of this castle and I must protect it as I can.”

“My lady—”

“I am the daughter of Hoster Tully, I do not run from a fight when there are people who need me. We must prepare.”

“As you command, my lady.” He took her to the walls of the keep and she listened to the orders he gave out to the men. 

“Have them prepare arrows of powder that might help the fire catch on their own ships,” Celia said. 

“My lady, the fire—”

“Has already destroyed most of our ships. At the very least we might be able to use their fire against them.” From where they stood, she could already see fire coming across the ports. “How many people have come in from Lannisport?”

“Not many yet, but there are those who will come seeking shelter.”

“My lady,” a soldier came to them. “We need to close the gates. The Ironborn have touched land.”

Celia’s heart pounded against her chest. “Keep the gates open”

“My lady!” Vylarr shouted. 

“We need to take in as many smallfolk as we can. We all know the reputation of the Kraken and those that serve under their banner. I will not allow them to harm any more of our men, women, and children. Not any more than they might have already.”

“My lady—”

“Keep the gates open for as long as possible and send soldiers to help the elderly and the women and children inside.”

“Yes, my lady,” the soldier said before leaving to carry out her orders. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Vylarr said. 

“I pray to the gods I do as well,” she replied. “Has a raven already been sent to King’s Landing?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Then I pray the Ironborn mean to make a show and withdraw.”

“I doubt it, Celia,” Vylarr said. 

She closed her eyes. “I do as well.”

—

Celia was dragged through the grounds of the keep. She struggled against the hold the men had of her. She told herself not to panic as words of a man long dead began to echo in her veins.  _ How old are you? How old are you?  _ Her children were crying and calling out to her as Avari sobbed along with them, Vylarr holding them all tightly to him so they might not run to her. 

She was pushed down onto her knees before a man not much older than she. He was handsome, she supposed. Pale with black hair and a dark beard. He wore a patch over his left eye but the eye she saw was as blue as a clear sky. She had heard of the man before. Euron Greyjoy. 

She glared up at him and the Ironborn captain laughed. “And I heard the wife of the Kingslayer was a trout, perhaps she is a snapping turtle.”

“What do you want, Lord Greyjoy?” Celia asked, bile forming in her throat.  _ How old are you? _

He bent down and pinched her chin between his fingers. “Such a pretty thing,” he said with a grin. “I might make a widow out of you yet.”

_ How old are you? _

Celia jerked her chin away from him. “What do you want?”

“Write to your husband and the king.”

“Word has already been sent that you’re here,” she growled. 

“Tell them both that the Iron Islands demand to be free.” He grabbed her by the hair and brought her face closer to his. 

Celia winced.  _ How old are you? _

“We demand independence and if we are not granted it… well…” he snickered. “I suppose they might find themselves down a few lions.” Euron Greyjoy leaned forward pressing his nose into her neck and breathed in. “I wonder… can a trout survive the salt of the sea?”

_ How old are you?  _ Celia closed her eyes and thought of her children.  _ How old are you? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who guessed Greyjoy Rebellion were correct!
> 
> What did you think of the brief summary of the past two years?  
The babies are growing up! 😭  
Celia doing the opposite of Cersei and letting the smallfolk in!  
Euron Greyjoy makes his appearance and Celia is having some flashbacks.  
Do NOT worry. Celia will not be raped. She will NOT.
> 
> Also, tomorrow I plan on starting a new Celiaverse story where, instead of Jaime, Celia marries Ned with Brandon not going down to King’s Landing with Rickard. It will have a little less backstory, but a long prologue chapter. Jonsa will happen a little more quickly in that one! Enjoy! See you tomorrow for the next chapter of this fic as well! ❤️


	23. Jaime XII

Jaime hated that he had to be away from his wife and children at all, but something was going to happen, he just knew it. Something in the wind was shifting over the past two years and Jaime was expected to be beside the king when it did, even if he preferred to be by Celia’s side. His father often came with him, as did Tyrion. 

While Jaime would always love his younger brother, he knew that their relationship was forever fractured by Joanna’s birth. His precious little girl wheezed are times, panting out breathes when the spring grew too plenty or when the air became too cold. Jaime knee Tyrion blamed himself as well for his youngest niece’s health and Jaime blamed him a bit as well. 

In the two years he had slept away from his wife, Jaime dreamed of her, often bringing himself to relief with his own hand, Celia’s name bubbling from his lips as he imagined her above or below him. In his dreams, he was worthy of her. Worthy of her love and affection. Worthy of their children. He knew he wasn’t, that he never would be, but he dreamed it all the same. Dreamed of a life where there was nothing holding him back, that he was the man his wife had thought him to be. 

Cersei has attempted to bring him to her bed, but Jaime had refused. He cited his constant presence needed by Robert and that it would be dangerous, but, in truth, he could not stomach the thought of sleeping with his sister again. His mind, body, and soul belonged to Celia and Celia alone. He would give them to no other. 

He found he could not spend time with Cersei’s children either, especially Joffrey. It felt, once more, like a betrayal, this time to his son and daughters. He was a distant uncle, he knew, but it was how he could live with himself. Celia said that was all he could do, learn to live with the man he was. 

Gods, Jaime missed his family and wished to return to them as soon as possible. 

—

Jaime was working on some trade agreements for Lannisport when a letter arrived from him. 

“For me?” he asked as he took the letter in his hand. It was thin, probably only one page. “From who?”

“It appears to be from your wife, Ser,” the servant said with a bow before leaving the room. 

Jaime blinked and looked down at the letter in his hand. Celia never wrote him, not anymore. He knew full well that she had burned all the letters he had sent her from the beginnings of their marriage. Jaime’s stomach dropped. What if one of the children were sick? What if— Gods. 

He ripped the letter open and began to read. With every word he felt dread sink into his bones and worry settle upon his skin. 

_ Dear Ser, _

_ I am writing to inform you that the Ironborn have made themselves a determined guest to Casterly Rock. They have made it clear that they intend to stay until further notice. _

_ Tell the king that the Iron Islands wish to be independent from the rest of the six kingdoms. I have been told that this will be the first of many castles that shall be taken in their quest for such a thing _

_ Euron Greyjoy has made it clear that the children and I have become hostages and he is willing to use whatever he can against our family, including the safety of our children and my own virtue to gain what he wishes. He has made it clear that my virtue is of interest to him. I am a Tully, husband and my family comes first. I beg your forgiveness if I am unable to keep my vows to you if it means our children are secure. _

_ I beg that you send word as soon as you are able. _

_ Your wife, _

_ Celia Lannister _

Jaime read the letter over and over again. His mind stuttered at Celia’s willingness to compromise her virtue for the sake of their children. 

He could still remember his wife crying in his arms over the molestation she suffered with the Mad King. Jaime saw red at the thought of his wife reliving such a thing with no Arthur Dayne to save her. 

His body burned with anger as his vision grew red. He swept the content of his desk from its top and cast it to the ground, spilling wells of ink and let the scrolls roll out as they hit the floor. Jaime let out a roar as he thought of his wife crying beneath the monster that was Euron Greyjoy. He would kill the man himself for daring to even threaten Jaime’s wife and children. 

It would not be as quick as the Mad King’s death. No, Greyjoy’s death will be slow and merciless. Jaime would make it painful. He would make the man feel as much pain as possible if he dared to lay a hand in Celia or their children. 

Jaime stormed from his study, ignoring the mess he had made and went to the small council room where he knew the king spent a majority of his time. 

“Lannisport has been sacked,” Robert said as soon as Jaime entered. 

He threw his letter from Celia down upon the table for everyone else to see. “He’s taken Casterly Rock and has my wife and children as hostages.” He could see his father grow pale. “She says that Euron Greyjoy holds the castle and he has made threats against her person as well as the lives of our children already.”

“Have they stated their terms?” Robert asked. 

“They want independence.”

“It is rebellion then,” Tyrion muttered as he looked over Celia’s letter. 

“It is rebellion,” Jaime agreed. 

—

The banners were called immediately and a letter was sent to Ned Stark personally. Celia was not just the wife of Jaime, after all, but the good sister of the Warden of the North, the Hand of the King who also served as Warden of the East, and the daughter of the Lord Paramount is the Trident. Any threat to her and her children was a greater reason for this act of rebellion to be taken more seriously. 

The banners came quickly as they made themselves ready to take back Casterly Rock. It was all they could do for a time. The keep was a good stronghold that would give the Ironborn a place to replenish supplies as they ravaged the Westerlands and the Riverlands, where reports of sacks were flooding in every day. 

Ned Stark sent word that he was already journeying down the King’s Road and would meet them part of the way before they made their way to Casterly Rock. The Blackfish would be joining them as well. 

Jaime spent his days preparing the soldiers for battle and sending letters to their allies for any information they had on Ironborn war tactics. Any time he had left he spent rereading Celia’s letter and praying to the gods that she and the children were safe. Every night he went to bed dreading every raven that came, worried that a letter would come to tell him of her rape. 

A knock came to his study door. “Come in.”

The door opened and closed and no one announced themselves. He looked up and saw Cersei standing with her back against the door. She walked to him with every inch of grace and confidence that she always had. His sister walked around his desk and stood behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You are so busy recently,” she said. “You don’t even _ visit _me anymore.”

“We are at war, Cersei. My wife and children are being held hostage.”

“But _ I _ am right here, along with _ our _ children.”

Jaime stood up and began to pace. He didn’t have time for this. Cersei went around his desk again to be closer to him still. She stood in front of him and pressed her hands against his chest. Jaime froze but he felt like her hands were burning him. 

“Take me, Jaime,” her hands slid up his shoulders. “You are so very tense. Why not relieve the stress in me.” She pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Give me another babe, a girl perhaps, and it might not matter if the lionfish are lost.”

Jaime pulled away, disgusted at himself for having ever being attracted to the woman before him. “Leave, Cersei. I have no time for you.”

“Jaime,” she hissed. 

“Leave. My _ wife _and children are in danger and I will give you no more children. Three is what we agreed in and three is what I have given you. Now get out.”

“You cannot speak to me this way,” Cersei growled. 

“I am, now get out before I lose my patients. If you do not leave me at once, I will tell our father the truth if your children and I promise you that I will make certain you will lose everyone. Now, leave me at once.”

Cersei looked at him with utter loathing before turning on her heels to leave Jaime’s study. He returned to his desk and continued his correspondence, thinking of Celia and their children at every word. 

—

Jaime dreamed of his wife guarded by krakens as she clutched their children to her. She was crying for him, screaming for him. No matter how hard he fought, he could not come closer to her. With every step he took closer she seemed to drift further and further away. 

Jaime awoke drenched in sweat and crying out his wife’s name. 

—

_ Dear Ser, _

_ The children miss you and ask for you every day. _

_ I have been made to where the clothes of a whore to the meals I must attend with Euron Greyjoy and his crew. Although it is too early to know, one of our serving girls has fallen pregnant by one of the Ironborn. I found her crying in the kitchens, her dress torn and her skin blotched with bruises. One of the servants, the son of your father’s steward has said he would claim the bastard as his own to save her from any possibility of her being taken as a salt wife. _

_ Ser Jaime, I beg you to come quickly. _

_ Euron Greyjoy is content to look for now, but I am aware of how a man might look should he hunger for the flesh of women. However, his hands have strayed to my thigh and have brushed against my breasts, although he claimed it was due to door or crumbs. _

_ Ser, I am so very frightened. I have done what I can to keep the children away from it all but I fear what might be done to me and them should you not come soon. _

_ I get that you come quickly. _

_ Your wife, _

_ Celia Lannister. _

—

They set out for Casterly Rock the next day. Jaime prayed to the old gods and the new that nothing will have become of his wife by the time they engage with the Ironborn to take back Casterly Rock. He would tear the Greyjoy family apart if his wife or children were injured. They would sing songs akin to the Rains of Castamere should any harm befall his wife and children. 

“I’m coming,” he whispered as he rode out next to his king and his father. “I’m coming, love. I’m coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime missing his family.  
Jaime learning about the Ironborn invading his home.  
Pushing Cersei away!!!!! And threatening to tell Tywin!!!!  
Another letter from Celia!  
And off they go to storm the castle!!!
> 
> I’m about to post The first chapter of my Celia x Ned story!


	24. Celia XII

Celia rocked Joanna in her arms, her youngest daughter tried so desperately to stay awake. Euron Greyjoy occupied most of Celia’s day and she was only truly allowed to see her children in the morning and evenings. It was better that way, to keep the Ironborn’s thoughts away from her children. 

She would rather face the monster that lurked in her mind than let her children be harmed. 

_ How old are you? _

“No ‘leep,” Joanna yawned. “Mama ‘tay.”

Celia closed her eyes and felt tears beginning to form. “I’ll be here in the morning, sweetling,” she whispered pressing soft kisses into her daughter’s fair hair. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

In truth, she could stay the night, but she did not want to risk the Ironborn coming to her room at night and finding her gone. She did not want her children to see her being dragged away from them. 

_ How old are you? _

Celia laid her youngest down on her bed and tucked her in. 

“Ce,” Avari came to her. “Stay.”

“You know why I can’t.”

“You are a bargaining chip,” Avari said. “That man won’t—”

“But he  _ could _ and I won’t risk my children… my children seeing that.” She bent down to kiss Joanna on the top of her head one more time.

She then went to Sansa. Her eldest daughter had barely spoken since the Ironborn had come into the keep. She would cling to Avari or Celia’s skirts or her brother’s arm. Celia tucked her daughter in and pressed kisses to her face. She tucked the knight doll Ser Jaime had given her on her last birthday in with her. “This will protect you, sweetling,” she promised. It was a hollow one, but she prayed that it was enough. “It’s what knights do, keep fair maidens safe.”

She went to Mya next. “I want to fight them,” the girl said with a yawn. Celia smiled. She truly was her father’s daughter. The girl sniffed. “Don’t want to stay in the nursery.”

“Then who will protect Avari and the children?” Celia asked. She had found that Mya enjoyed not being counted as one of the  _ children. _

That seemed to stump the girl and Celia kissed the girl goodnight. She then went to her son. She kissed the top of his head. “You need to sleep, my little knight.”

“When’s Father coming for us?”

Celia closed her eyes at her son’s question and held back her tears. “Your father will be coming soon,” she promised. She pressed a kiss to the top of her son’s head. “Your father will  _ always  _ come for you.” 

She knew full well that she couldn’t trust Ser Jaime with her heart. She could trust him with their children, though. She knew he loved them with all his heart. 

He would come for them at least. 

—

Celia sat at the table next to Euron as he and his men ate and drank as though the keep were their own. Celia had ordered all the women to be hidden in the catacombs of the keep. Only her children and Avari and the men remained as active members of the keep. She refused to let any more women be taken advantage of.

All the lions that lived down in their cages knew all the servants of the keep. They would make a fuss if one of the Ironborn came near and the girls could hide themselves deeper. Vylarr stayed with them to keep them safe. He knew it might mean he would miss the birth of his first child, but Avari and sworn at him and made him promise to look after the women. 

_ I can take care of myself,  _ she had huffed. 

She stiffened as she felt Euron’s hand on her thigh. She had been forced to wear an Essosi slave dress, a bed slave, one of the men had sneered. The skirt was thin and airy and wrapped around her hips in such a way that it could be pulled up for easy access if necessary. The bodice was loose and cut so low it went to three inch long wrap belt around her middle. It showed everything. It even showed how cold she was. 

She could feel the roughness of Euron’s hand against the fabric that covered her skin. Celia lifted her chin and ignored him. 

_ How old are you? _

She thought of her children. She thought of her four children and forced every other thought from her mind. 

“Tell me, little snapping turtle,” Euron said, leaning close to her and pressing his lips upon her bare shoulder. “Will you cry when I bring you your husband’s head?”

“I doubt you will have it,” she said not looking at him. 

His teeth scraped along her skin and Celia winced. “When this is all over, I will bring you the Kingslayer’s head and make it watch as I fuck you like the whore you are.”

“Perhaps my husband will give me  _ your  _ head.”

The sting of a slap hissed at her cheek and she turned her glare onto Euron as he stood and went out to one of the salt wives he had brought with him. 

Celia took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and prayed that rescue would come soon. 

—

Avari screamed. 

“I want Vylarr,” she whimpered as another contraction hit. 

“Get Vylarr and trade posts with him,” Celia ordered one of the Lannister guards. 

“At once, my lady.”

He rushed off as the maester began to tend to Avari. “The child will come slowly since it is the first,” he said. “She must stay conscious throughout.”

Celi held back a biting remark that she had already birthed three children and knew what was happened a lot more intimately than the maester did, but she held her tongue. Avari needed her to focus. “Just hold on,” she said instead. “Just hold on, Vylarr will be here soon and then you will have your baby and everything will be okay.”

It felt like hours but it was only minutes before Vylarr rushed in. He knelt down on the other side of his wife and kissed her lips tenderly. “I’m right here, love,” he whispered. “Right here.”

“This is all your fault,” Avari growled just as she began to cry as another contraction hit. 

“Don’t worry,” Celia said. “She doesn’t mean it.”

“We were both willing participants,” Vylarr muttered and Celia laughed.

“Just hold her hand and we’ll get through this.”

It took hours before her body was ready to birth the baby.

Soon, Avari’s cries were joined by a little boy’s. Celia sighed in relief as she watched her friend hold her son for the first time. 

“Have you thought of a name?” Celia asked. 

“If it was a girl, we would have named her Celia,” Vylarr said and she blushed. “You’re the reason we met afterall.”

“And now that it’s a boy?”

“Aemon,” Avari said proudly. 

—

Rumors began to spread that the king’s men were coming to Casterly Rock. 

Celia went to the sept every day to pray to all the gods that they would come soon, that soon she would be free. Most of all, she prayed that her husband believed her when she said that Euron Greyjoy has not sullied her. 

The dinner that night was more subdued as the Ironborn began to whisper about the upcoming battle, talking strategy and the like. Even Euron seemed to be in no mood to mock her. 

“How did you get into the keep?” Celia asked him, not touching her food. She hadn’t eaten much food since the Ironborn had come. She didn’t trust them not to do something to it. 

“Your kindness is well known,” the Ironborn man said. He smiled at her. “How did I get into the keep, you ask? The same way as the smallfolk.”

—

Ser Jaime was above her. 

His lips upon her neck and shoulders as his hands explored her body. 

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered into her as he sank into her heat. It was the closest she had ever gotten to an  _ I love you _ . “I’ve missed you.”

Celia wrapped her arms around him. “I’m right here,” she whispered. “I’m right here.”

“I do love you,” he said so softly that Celia could have missed it. “I do love you.”

“And I love you, Ser Jaime.” She pressed a kiss to his shoulder as she wrapped herself around him. “I always have.”

He began to move, at first his strokes were long and slow, pulling Celia into a whimper of promises and a whisper of pleas to go faster. The pace began to build as though everything was falling into place. She rolled her hips up to him and began to beg. 

“Please,” she moaned. “Oh, please!”

“I’ve missed you,” he growled, his pace picking up. “I’ve missed you.”

“Right here!” She cried out as his hips slammed into hers. “Right there! Yes!”

“That’s it,” he moaned as his movements became sharper and sharper, her coming release building with every stroke. “Celia,” he grunted, her name like a prayer upon his lips. “Celia!”

She woke up to her body clenching around nothing. Celia laid there for a long moment panting before she began to gasp. She curled in on herself and sobbed at the loneliness and pain 

“Please, Jaime,” she whispered. “Please come quickly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Euron better be ready because, tomorrow, Jaime’s coming!


	25. Jaime XIII

“We don’t have time for this!” Jaime shouted at the others as they looked over a map of the land surrounding Casterly Rock. Ned looked at him with a steady gaze while Robert refused to look at him. “My wife and children are in there! Your daughter is in there!” he shouted at Robert. “There has to be a way in through the cliffs! They can’t have blacked it.”

“Jaime,” his father warned. “Even if they haven’t, no army can pass through there. One man can not take a castle festered with enemies by themselves. These things take planning.”

“That’s not good enough!” Jamie roared. He couldn’t breathe. “They have been under his gaze for over a month! Gods know what—”

His voice caught in his throat. He couldn’t stand there any longer. “I need some air.” Jaime stormed from the tent as black spots began to form in his vision. 

_ Not now. Not now! _

Jaime grabbed out and held onto the thrift that held the water for the horses, but he didn’t care. He sank to his knees and tried to breathe. Celia has calmed him down the last time he had felt this way. She had him breathe with her. But she wasn’t here. She was—

“Jaime.”

A hand was on his shoulder and Jaime flinched away, his knees giving out under him. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed. 

“You need to breathe, Jaime,” Ned’s voice came calmly. “Celia taught you how to do this right?” The Northman sat down and put Jaime’s hand on his own chest and took a deep breath. “Like this.” He exhaled.

Jaime did as he was told and took deep breaths, his head became more coherent with every inhale. 

“Why are you panicking. Celia sent a letter only a day or so ago, she’s fine.”

“You don’t understand,” Jaime breathed. “The Ironborn, the rape and pillage and plunder. I… Euron has already made his intentions towards her clear. And what of Mya, or Sansa, or Joanna.”

“They’ll be okay, Jaime,” Ned said softly. “Everything will be okay.”

Jaime felt his heart begin to stead and his mind clear. “How do you know that trick?”

“Cat does it with me, has since Lyanna died.”

—

They met with Euron on the open field before Casterly Rock. Jaime had hoped that he might see Celia or his children. While he did not want the man to even be within spitting distance of his family, he had hoped that the man would use them as a bargaining chip so that Jaime might see them. 

“Ah, King Robert Baratheon,” the Ironborn man said. “I see you’ve gotten a little stouter. I doubt you could even lift your hammer now.”

“It’s muscle, I assure you,” Robert said calmly. 

“And the Kingslayer, such an honor to meet you,” the man grinned. “I haven’t had the honor to  _ know  _ your wife yet, but I’ve promised her soon.”

“Don’t do it,” Ned hissed under his breath to Jaime as it took everything in him to  _ not  _ tackle the man to the ground. 

“We all know Casterly Rock is impenetrable when closed,” he said. “I was only able to get through because the little snapping turtle kept the gates open for the smallfolk. There’s no need for a battle,” he said it as though it were some great offer. “Give my people independence and allow me to take someone as a hostage. I would prefer the little snapping turtle, but I’ve seen her eldest daughter.” His gaze shifted to Jaime again. “I must say, she’ll make a pretty thing someday.” His gaze returned to Robert, waiting for his answer.

If looks could kill, Euron would be slaughtered by every man gazing upon him now. 

“You’re right,” Jaime said, surprising everyone. “There’s no need for a battle. Thousands of men don’t have to die. Only one of us.” Euron’s eyes narrowed. “”Let’s end this. You against me.”

The Ironborn man laughed. “I keep hearing stories about you, Kingslayer. The way your people talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman to have ever walked. Maybe you killing the old Mad King by stabbing him in the back shows that you couldn’t have done it if he was facing you. Maybe you are that good. I don’t know if I’d beat you. know that my army will beat yours. You may have an army, but I have the ships and your wife. 

“You may think you have the advantage, but you don’t. Will your men want to fight for you when they hear you would not fight for them?”

Euron laughed. “You are good!” he sneered. “I can almost see why your wife has such faith in you. She’s a fine woman, your wife. I look forward to having her in my bed once I make her a widow.” Jaime’s hands tightened on his reigns. “I’m the morning then, Kingslayer. I shall tell your wife and children of your impending death.”

—

_ If you can, get your family, Mya and whoever you can out,  _ Robert had told him.  _ Or get them as far underground if you can.  _

Jaime knee he could not sneak in for the cliffs. He had sent one of the Lannister soldiers with him to check and the passageway was closed off.

Jaime staggered time his feet as he watched the coming soldiers. The Ironborn has no Calvert, but they had men, thousands of them whooping and hollering as they raced forward, swords and spears ready. Jaime drew his sword, the very one that he had used to kill Aerys and readied himself. 

“Charge!” Robert roared. 

The king’s men, including their cavalry, rush forward at their king’s command. The two sides collided and Jaime was at the center of it all. Men colored into one another and other men collided with horses. 

It took everything in Jaime to dodge and weave around the chaos as smoke began to come from the ground as though the fire in the soldiers’ blood was setting the field alight. Arrows were being shot from both directions, but the Ironborn seemed to have better aim in the chaos, or, at the very least, they did not care who they hit. Jaime pivoted out of the way of a charge only to be set in the path of a horse with a dead rider. Jaime threw himself on the ground and thrust his sword out and killed an Ironborn soldier just as a new wave of arrows crashed around them. 

Another Greyjoy soldier ran at him. Jaime made quick work of him before another appeared. The chaos grew until there was a loud roar of fire and blood around him. Jaime could see the level of carnage the initial confrontation had created. A pile of bodies was forming, creating an obstruction between them all and the Casterly Rock. 

—

At the center of it all, Jaime struggled against the crush of bodies and Jaime could hear men screaming as they began to squash under the weight of those above them 

Jaime gasped for air, grabbing ahold of anything he could, frantically trying to find a place to stand. He was able to make his way to the top of the pile of bodies. He could see as the battle continued to rage around them. 

A horn sounded and there was a short breath in the battle. The horn sounded again and Jaime could see Lannister soldiers storming out of Casterly Rock on horses and foot. The red flag with a gold lion emblazoned upon the fabric. 

The king’s men began to cheer. 

—

Jaime was wounded but the time he faced Euron on the grounds of Casterly Rock’s hold. This was where he truly met Celia for the first time. It was thoughts of her and their children and hate for Euron that kept him standing. 

“You suggested one-on-one combat,

didn’t you?” the Ironborn asked. “I’ve reconsidered. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Jaime took an unsteady step forward. 

“Don’t,” Ned cautioned. 

Jaime ignored him, stooping to pick up a shield, a shoddy one that could barely pass for a practice shield, and stormed towards Euron. The Ironborn pulled an arrow, nocked, and shot. Jaime blocked it with his shield. He lowered it and continued forward, his gaze focused solely on Euron. The Ironborn pulled another arrow and shot it. Jaime blocked it. Fire began to burn in his hand, but he ignored it, storming forward. Euron became frantic as he tried to pull out another arrow, but Jaime didn’t let him. He knocked the bow from Euron’s hands and hit him with the edge of his shield. A croak sounded as Jaime hit him in the ribs and the Ironborn went down. 

Jaime got down on top of him before Euron could even attempt to get up, dropping the shield as he went. 

Jaime curled his bleeding hand, fire alighting every muscle and bone in it, into a fist, grabbing Euron’s shirt with the other hand. His fist canes down as he began to hit the man over and over and over and over. 

This man would not touch his wife.

This man would not touch his daughter. 

This man would not rape his people. 

The crunch of bone came from one of them and Jaime cared not who. He was numb and afire all at once. 

He didn’t know if Euron was still breathing when Ned pulled Jaime off him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime had a panic attack worrying about Celia and the kids!  
The parlay!!!!  
The battle (I relied on the script of BotB for this).  
Jaime beating the crap out of Euron! Did anyone notice something about Jaime?


	26. Celia XIII

Celia had been able to send the Lannister guards and knights out into the battle, mustering what they could to help the king and her husband and then she had ushered all the remaining people into the crypts to wait and pray for those fighting to take the keep back. 

Celia held her children close. Mya had her arms wrapped around Arthur, her face buried in his neck. Sansa was crying softly into Celia’s chest and little Joanna was asleep in her lap, all cried out. 

“Mother,” Arthur whispered. “Is Father out there?”

“Yes,” she replied, not even having to think of the answer. 

“Will he win?”

“Your father is the greatest knight in Westeros,” she told her children. “He will come here even if it is kicking and screaming.”

He loved their children. She knew it. She knew that what he felt for their children was as real as the air she breathed. Celia closed her eyes and held her children close. 

_ How old are you? _

She had to be brave, brave like Cat. 

The sound of many footfalls began to echo across the crypts and Celia’s heart began to pound in her chest. One of the knights that had stayed to protect them drew his sword. Sansa whimpered. 

The footfalls drew closer and—

“Father!” Mya shrieked and lept from her place against Arthur.

Celia’s gaze shot up and she saw the king kneeling to pick up his running daughter. He pressed urgent kisses to her face as he held the crying girl. 

Celia hated how disappointed she was. She hated that she had put such faith in Ser Jaime only for him to let them down. This was different, however. Now he had let down their children now. Celia’s stomach churned. What if he had not even come at all? What if he had stayed behind to be with his Cersei. 

“He’s here,” Robert said, pulling Celia from her thoughts.

“What?” She asked, uncertain if she had heard him correctly. 

“Jaime is here,” the king repeated. “He was… Celia, I’m sorry, but he was injured.”

Celia felt her heart stop. “Is he going to be alright?”

“It was bad from what I could see. His father and Ned forced him to the maester tent outside the keep. They wanted it to be looked at as soon as possible and they didn’t want to frighten you or the children.”

Celia’s heart thudded in her chest. Injured. Her husband was injured. She passed Joanna to one of the servants and gave Sansa to Arthur. She stood. “Take me to him.”

“I don’t think—”

“Take me to my husband.”

Robert watched her for a moment and sighed. “As you wish.”

—

“Take me to my wife, damnit!” She could hear her husband bellow from the maester’s tent in the distance. He was obviously speaking to someone for he seemed to reply to them. “I don’t care if I’m tearing the stitches, my wife and children need me.”

A pause. 

“Damn you, Eddard Stark, I am not an invalid! Take me to my wife and children now!”

Another pause. 

“By all the gods I will become a kinslayer next if you do not let me see my wife and children this instant!”

Celia entered the tent and found her husband upon a makeshift bed, his father and Ned trying to hold him down as the maester was sewing up his wound. There was blood everywhere and Celia could find no major injuries upon his bare chest that might have caused such bloodshed. Then, she saw that his sword hand was no longer part of his body and instead in a pan. 

Celia lost feelings in her legs and everything went black. 

—

Celia awoke to Ned placing a cool wet cloth over her brow. She took it off and sat up. “How long…?”

“A few minutes or so,” Ned told her. “I took you to Robert’s tent so Jaime could finish being treated.” They were quiet for a few moments. “He’s ashamed of how he frightened you. He said so and hasn’t spoken since, or at the very least he hasn’t been so loud that we can hear him.”

Celia chewed her lip. “What happened?”

“Took an arrow to the hand from Euron. Then the idiot began to punch him, breaking the bones and allowing it to be infected. The maester thought it safer to remove it. The bones were crushed. I honestly surprised how he isn’t sobbing in pain considering he refuses anything for it.”

“He fought Euron?”

Her good brother nodded. “Nearly died a few times to get there, but he did. He was like the Warrior reborn. It was savage, like a lion finally free from its cage.”

“Is he dead?”

“No, I pulled him off when I realized a lot of the blood was his own. Euron is in a cell being guarded as we speak.” Ned took her hand in his. “Celia, I need to know. Did Euron…?”

She shook her head. “He threatened and touched me, but he did not force himself into my bed or his.”

A burden seemed to be lifted from his shoulders. “Thank the gods.”

“Could you take me to Ser Jaime?”

Ned cocked an eyebrow. 

“I promise I won’t faint.”

Ned sighed before nodding. He led her back to the maester’s tent and found Ser Jaime’s wrist and forearm being bandaged.

Her husband looked up at her with such worry. “Celia,” he said breathlessly. He stood and came for her. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

Celia looked at his wound and wrapped her arms around him. He could have died. “I thought you weren’t ever coming back.”

“I would always come back for you, Celia,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his nose to her hair. “ _ Always. _ ”

—

Celia slept in her husband’s rooms. She did not wish to be alone in the rooms she had feared of being defiled in. Celia wondered if she would ever be able to go back to those rooms again. The children had wanted to sleep with them. Mya had tried to be brave but Robert had offered to let her sleep with him that night. 

Their children were settled between them, in varying stages of sleep. Sansa was the closest to her father, her face resting against his chest and her fists clinging to his sleep shirt as though she were afraid he might disappear when she awoke. Arthur was curled around his sister, his head resting against Ser Jaime’s arm. His fist was tight against his father’s shirt as well. Joanna was facing Celia, mouthing at her covered breast for comfort. Celia had her arm around all three of their children and Ser Jaime was on his back with his injured arm propped up to keep the blood from flowing to heavily. 

The sight had frightened the children, but they seemed more relieved than anything that their father had come back to them. Sansa had wrapped her arms around his neck and cried to him. Arthur had hugged him solumnly and Joanna had hugged Celia close, not yet familiar with her father and wary of most men save for Vylarr. 

“I missed you.”

She looked over and saw Ser Jaime looking at her. His green eyes were gentle and loving and it nearly broke Celia’s heart to think that he could have been killed. “I missed you, too,” she whispered. 

“I never want to leave you again,” he told her. 

“You can’t promise that.”

“It’s why I’m not promising.” His eyes searched hers. “I would lose my hand a thousand times if it means I can wake up like this tomorrow.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He smiled at her sadly. “I missed you.”

Celia reached over Sansa and gripped his shirt. “I’m right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that said Jaime had lost his hand, you were correct. If they had kept it on it would be extremely mangled and it was going to get infected since the mud and dirty wood and then mixing with other people’s blood... yeah. So he’s going to get a prosthetic.
> 
> Ned worrying like a big brother about Celia. Do you know how WEIRD it is to write these two knowing I have written sex scenes between them in TPS? Super weird! Lol
> 
> Jaime and Celia going back to their old “I Love you”s with their three word sayings! Jaime not promising to leave but sort of promising that he’d always fight to get to her. 😭😭😭
> 
> About to publish the next TPS chapter.
> 
> Sorry about posting so early. I’m in the UK right now for graduation and my phone refuses to let me use my travel pass so I’m updating five hours ahead of when I usually do in the US.


	27. Jaime XIV

Jaime struggled against the loss of his dominant hand and wished he could participate in the tournament. He wanted to prove that he was still capable in protecting his family. Wanted to show that he could still kill if it meant protecting them. 

The preparations for the tournament began and Jaime knew that meant his sister would be coming soon. 

While Celia still shares his bed, he could sense her distance. She did not curl into him or hold onto him, but occasionally found her like that when he awoke. 

He knew he may never earn her love again, but Jaime did hope to earn her trust. Every morning and night he would kiss her and whisper that he missed her. 

He did not know how to fix this. He wished to all the gods that he did. But he didn’t. He wasn’t even sure he deserved her trust. He wondered if it would have been better for him to have died. Then, perhaps, she would have at least been free of him. Free in whatever capacity that might mean to her. 

He did not participate in the rest of the rebellion, but he asked Ned to stay in touch and let him know what was going on. Euron remained in the keep’s dungeon and it took everything in Jaime to not kill the man every day that passed. However he was a prisoner of war and would be a bargaining chip. Either way, Jaime was certain the man would never return to the Iron Islands again. 

When the rebellion was won, Euron was banished and the man who _ had _raped one of the servants was executed on site. Jaime wished the Greyjoy has been killed, but Robert had been adamant against it. 

—

Jaime sat next to his wife as they watched the tournament. He wished he could participate, but knew he would look foolish if he tried. Joanna was in his lap and Sansa and Arthur sat on either side of them. 

Celia looked beautiful sitting next to him. She wore a golden dress with a pearl hairnet framing her face. She was a vision. Her red hair was like fire against the afternoon son and her eyes were a clear blue. 

“I would crown you as my Queen of Love and Beauty,” he whispered as he leaned towards her. “I would crown you as mine.”

He watched as a blush graced her cheeks and Jaime kissed her there. 

—

He blamed the alcohol. 

They had both found themselves with a little too much to drink. The fault was Robert, who was most likely trying to make it better between them. Ned was not so privy to know that Jaime and Celia had a falling out, but Robert had noticed. 

She was in his arms again, their lips locked as he devoured her. Needed her. Needed to feel every inch of her against him. His tongue delved into her mouth as he savored the taste of her. 

“Celia,” he groaned. “Gods, Celia.”

“Jaime,” she moaned as he laid her down on their bed. He began to rut into her, her hands pulling at his shirt. “Need you. Gods, I need you.”

She was so wet for him and Jaime growled against her skin. The way she ground against him. 

“Gods, I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t care,” she panted, her had going into his trousers as she wrapped her hand around his length and began to pump. “Don’t care.”

It took everything in Jaime to pull away. “We can’t.”

He looked down and his wife and saw her eyes grow cold as she withdrew from him. Jaime let her pull herself away from him 

“You don’t have to love me,” he whispered to her. “But I wouldn’t be able to handle it if you hated me.” He kissed the back of her head. “And that’s what you would do if we did this now. Hate me. I could not live with myself if that happened.”

She did not say a word and Jaime pressed another kiss to the back of her head and pulled the covers over her. “I do not think I could live if you hated me.”

—

Jaime began to train with his left hand. His father and Robert said he didn’t need to prove himself, but he felt like he did. He wasn’t so naive to think that his family didn’t have enemies. He had promised Celia that he would never let anyone hurt her. He had failed her twice already and Jaime would not fail her again. 

He wouldn’t fail their children either. 

He didn’t know if he could live with himself if he did. 

It took almost a year, but he was getting better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jaime.


	28. Celia XIV

Though they shared a bed, they did not share a marriage bed. She would curl into Ser Jaime’s side as they slept, his hands never wandered lower than her waist. When she felt his hardness against her he would press a kiss to her brow and excise herself, whispering  _ I miss you _ as he went. 

She wanted to believe him. She wanted so desperately to believe him. 

Celia was glad that her husband had not taken her to the marriage bed when they were both deep in their cup. She would have resented him. She might have even hated him. It is so much easier to ignore her longing when she has not felt him inside her in so long. It was easier to ignore, easier to find pleasure in her fingers, no matter how empty the feeling. 

Ser Jaime was attentive, taking her with him whenever he worked alongside his father.

Ser Jaime was kind as he brought her a flower every morning and every night. 

He was thoughtful as he cared for her whenever she needed something. 

Her husband, she knew, was a good man at heart. He loved her in his own way, perhaps not as she loved him, and loved their children more than she had initially believed. 

She refused, however, to give anymore of her heart to him. They would be friends and parents. But that was all Celia would allow them to be. It was all that she could. 

She was not certain she could survive another heartbreak when it came to her husband. 

—

They went to King’s Landing for Joffrey’s birthday. She had not wanted to go, had not wanted to visit the woman and child her husband preferred. She did not wish for it to be flaunted around her. She did not wish to pretend ignorance when she knew what her husband was doing whenever he left their bed. 

Even so, Celia attempted to be kind to her husband’s other children. Myrcella and Tommen were sweet. The little princess treated Joanna like a little doll, but Celia’s youngest daughter enjoyed the attention and the pretty ribbons the princess placed in her hair. Tommen reminded Celia of Arthur when he was a small boy. He was quiet and thoughtful and clung to his nursemaid’s skirts, but seemed thrilled at whatever attention Celia offered him. Sansa read stories to the prince, or else recited the stories she knew from memory to him while holding a random book. 

The child that Celia found near impossible to like was the crown prince. She did not like the way he looked down upon her family, including Ser Jaime. She did not like the way he goaded Arthur. She did not like the way he pulled Sansa’s hair. She did not like the way he stole Joanna’s doll and made her cry. 

No, Celia did not like the crown prince at all. 

—

“So tell me, little fish,” the queen said with a smirk as she and a few other ladies reclined in the Maidenvault. “How has my brother been treating you? Any other lionfish upon the horizon?”

“No, your grace,” Celia said, not looking at the woman who held her husband’s affection. 

Celia had only ever been pretty. Not compared to Cat or Lysa or Lyanna or Avari of course. She had been pretty, but she was ugly in comparison to the queen. No wonder Ser Jaime prefered her. 

“A shame,” the queen said with a smile. “I am attempting at a fourth myself.”

Celia held back the tears that wished to come forth. Perhaps she should allow her husband to take her to their marriage bed once more? Perhaps he would not need to find his release so often in his sister? Perhaps if she kept him more occupied—

No. No. She would not degrade herself in such a way. 

“A great joy, I am sure,” Celia replied. “I wonder if your fourth child will have any resemblance to the king.” She looked at Cersei then. “I can hardly call your children stags when my children, as you so kindly call them, are most obviously  _ lionfish _ .”

The queen grew red with rage, but Celia did not care. 

—

_ Dearest Celia, _

_ I am with child again! _

_ Ned was so happy when I told him that you will not believe what he did! He ran up the tower and rang the bells himself and shouted from the windows that another wolf will run about the halls of Winterfell. I believe he is so happy that the Starks are becoming numerous once more.  _

_ Perhaps it is my pregnancy brain, but I have thought of something.  _

_ I know you do not wish for your children to live in the capital due to your experiences there yourself. Arthur’s future is secure as the Lord of Casterly Rock. Sansa and Joanna’s futures are much less clear. The only way to secure them is through marriage. They must, of course, be marriages that your good father will approve of. One daughter could come North and another further South.  _

_ Do forgive me, but I have already spoken of it with Ned (he may not be in the best state of mind for I fear he might grant me the moon if I asked him) and he agrees with me. Perhaps we should betroth Sansa to Robb. Surely your good father will agree that having his granddaughter as the future wife of the Warden of the North, the largest kingdom, would be a great advantage to him. Joanna, perhaps, could be betrothed to Prince Trystane Martell. _

_ Think on it, sweet sister.  _

_ Love, _

_ Cat _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celia and Jaime angst!  
Myrcella and Tommen are adorable while Joffrey can choke!  
Cersei being cruel and Celia serving facts!  
Proposals!!!!!
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter but tomorrow will be big. Holly crap something big happens!
> 
> Two more chapters until the final time skip and we get Sansa’s first POV! ❤️
> 
> You guys should check out my “celiaverse” tag on my tumblr if you would like to see some other aus that I haven’t (yet) written fics for.


	29. Jaime XV

“Your wife threatened me,” Cersei said, cornering Jaime as he was heading to the training yard to practice with Robert. 

Most of the soldiers tried to go easy on Jaime as he trained with his left hand. Robert, however, wasn’t afraid to hold back. Jaime was almost certain the king took some joy in pushing Jaime to his limit. 

“I’m sure it was well deserved,” Jaime said as he pushed past his sister. He had been on the other end of his wife’s tongue lashing enough to know her threat to Cersei was probably not even a threat. She had probably just spoken the truth. “I have things to do now, so if you go. Look after your Joffrey or go spend time with Myrcella and Tommen.”

His sister scowled. “They are too much like  _ him _ . They should be more like  _ us _ .”

It was Jaime’s turn to glare. Myrcella and Tommen were sweet children who loved so openly that they even gave hugs to servants when they were happy. They both loved Robert too. Seeing the king with the twins brought a smile to everyone’s face. He loved them. He wore the flower crowns Myrcella made him to council meetings and carried Tommen on his shoulders whenever the boy asked. He was a good father. He tried to be that sort of father to Koffrey, but Jaime knew how close Cersei kept the boy to herself. The crown prince was every inch his mother and Jaime hated the aggression he saw in the boys eyes, especially when aimed at the other children. He was a cruel boy and Cersei seemed oblivious to it all. 

“I want another child, Jaime.” Cersei wrapped her hand around his arm. “Visit my chambers later. I know you’ve been so busy—”

“And I will remain busy,” Jaime said darkly. “There has been movement amongst the Targaryen supporters and I will not have another mad king on our hands.” He pulled his arm away from her. “If you want another babe, speak to Robert. Give him a trueborn child.”

Cersei’s eyes flashed and her nostrils flared. “I will not give that brute a child.”

“That brute is more of a parent to the twins than you are,” Jaime snapped. “He’s a good man and I am well aware that the last time you came to me with a split lip and black eye had been of yours own doing. She glared at him. “I just hadn’t cared.”

The makeup had come off when they had kissed and Jaime had seen the slight drop of blood on her letter opener. He had been angry for the lie, but he hadn’t cared yet. He hadn’t. 

Now he did. 

“Robert’s a good man. I will not taint his bed or keep again.” He had not touched Cersei since before Celia learned the truth. 

“Excuse me, your grace, but I must really be on my way.”

Jaime knew that he should speak to his father of what he had done. What he and Cersei has both done. It was the only way he would truly be free of his sister. He knew he should tell Robert the truth. However, he was so very afraid of losing his children, of losing Celia. His fear crippled him more than losing his hand ever did. 

He could not lose them.

He could not. 

—

Jaime awoke to the sound of the door opening as thunder rolled across the sky. He sat up and looked over to find his three children, minus Mya, holding onto each other. 

“Can we sleep with you, Father?” Arthur asked. “Joanna had a bad dream.”

“Of course, sweetling,” Celia said to them. 

Jaime stood from his bed and picked Joanna up and passed her to her mother and then did the same with Sansa. Arthur climbed upon the bed himself and Jaime made sure they were all settled before he climbed his back into bed. Jaime wrapped his arms around his family. He glanced at Celia and found her smiling at him. He returned it and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand before drifting back to sleep.

—

Jaime awoke to the sound of live steel against a sheath. 

He was up in an instant, pulling his sword from the side of his bed. He blocked the intruder’s weapon and shouted. He could feel his family stirring next to him and heard Celia and Sansa scream. Jaime pushed the intruder back with a roar, hoping to alert someone, anyone of the intruder. 

“Get away from my family!” 

He pushed his opponent back and continued to fight against him. The opponent was good, but he was obviously a hired sword and not a trained man. Their swords clashed again and again and again. 

“Arthur!” Celia screamed. 

Jaime blocked another blow and saw that there was a second intruder. Celia was curled into the corner of their chambers, holding the girls close to her. Arthur was standing between his mother and his sisters and the intruder, brandishing one of Jaime’s shorter swords. 

The boy’s opponent laughed and seemed to play with him as Jaime tried desperately to defeat his foe to get to his son’s aid. 

“Help!” He roared, still hoping someone would hear. “Help!”

Jaime plunged his sword into his opponent’s chest just as the girls screamed and Arthur howled in pain. Jaime turned and let his sword fall across the other intruder’s back. He so desperately wanted to kill him but knew that he needed answers. He needed to know who had ordered this. 

Jaime pushed the second intruder down and drove his sword into the man’s shoulder. He screamed as the steel slid through the joint. He turned to look and saw Celia holding their son, blood spreading across his chest from a long wound. 

His wife was sobbing and Jaime fell to his knees and made his wife lay the boy upon the ground.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” he ordered, his mind going everywhere and nowhere at all. He pulled his shirt over his head and began to put pressure on part of the wound. Celia did the same. He wanted to send Sansa to get help but he did not know if the rest of the castle were under attack. “Help!” He roared again as sobs began to wrack his wife’s body. “Help us!”

“Fetch the maester!” Robert’s voice boomed from the doorway. Jaime turned and saw his father, Robert, Tyrion, and a few soldiers standing at the door. “Take the intruder and interrogate him,” he ordered one of the soldiers. “Now!”

“My baby,” Celia sobbed. “My baby.”

Jaime’s father sprinted across the room and took The crying Sansa and Joanna into his arms, pressing their faces into his shoulder as he himself could not look at his bleeding grandson.

“Father…” Arther whispered. 

“You were so brave,” Jaime whispered as the entire castle began to wake. People screaming and shouting of an attack. “You were so brave, my little knight.” Tears began to flood his vision. 

“Father…”

His son’s eyes closed just as the maester arrived. 

—

Celia was crying outside the maester’s offices as they waited for news of their son. The maester has refused to allow them inside, not wanting them to get in the way. 

Jaime held his wife tightly in his arms and began to rock her slightly. He buried his face in her neck as the hot tears continued to slide down his cheeks and onto her skin. 

Jaime prayed like he hadn’t in a long time. He prayed to all the gods he could think of. Old, new, drowned, foreign. He did not care he did not care who answered his prayer. 

_ Please. _

_ Please.  _

The door opened and Maester Pycell stepped out, his sleeves wet with blood. “The young lord will be alright.”

Jaime felt like he could finally breathe. 

“The wound wasn’t too deep and wasn’t as bad as it initially looked. He has quite a few stitches and he needs to rest and be mindful of them, but Lord Arthur will be healed up soon enough. The wound will scar, but I’m sure he will come up with fantastical reasons for how he received such a wound when he’s older.” The maester smiled kindly. “He’s sleeping now and I will stay to keep an eye out for infection. It’s best to go get some sleep yourselves so you may be well rested so you can be ready to see him in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Celia whispered. 

Jaime led Celia back to their rooms and held her as she cried in relief. 

Their son was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime not giving Cersei what she wants and a glimpse into how Robert is like as a father.  
Lion pile!  
Arthur!  
He’s okay!!!
> 
> Not going to lie, when I first conceived this story, Arthur was going to die. The thing is, Jaime was not going to realize how much he loved Celia and their children until AFTER Arthur died. That was my initial plan and then Jaime just started falling for her so much sooner. Then you guys loved Arthur so much. Then, I was going to have Joanna be the one to die, because I still felt it was needed.  
Congratulations! No one died!
> 
> We have one more Celia chapter on Saturday and then we have the first Sansa chapter on Sunday!


	30. Celia XV

Celia wanted to hear his excuses. 

She wanted to hear from his own lips why her family was targeted. Why her son was injured. Why he had come to them when they were all vulnerable and sleeping.

She wanted to look the man in the eye as he told her. 

“Why?” she asked as the man knelt before her, chained in one of the dark cells. 

“Revenge,” the man said. 

Celia narrowed his eyes. “My son has done nothing to warrant revenge. He’s a child.”

The man laughed. It was cruel and grating. “Aye, he was a child. But so were Aegon and Rhaenys.”

The names echoed in Celia’s mind. She thought of them on occasion still. Of little Aegon giggling as she blew raspberries into his cheek or belly. Little Rhaenys carrying her car wherever she went. 

“They were,” Celia replies. “But what does that have to do with my children?”

“Everyone knows Lord Tywin was the one who sent the Mountain. Why should his heirs live when the prince and princesses are dead?”

Celia lifted her chin. “I knew Princess Elia,” she said. “I served her and the children before I was smuggled from King’s Landing. The princess wouldn’t have wanted you to kill more children for her sake. She would have wanted to you find  _ justice  _ a different way. Revenge would only bring more bloodshed. Justice brings an end to it.”

Celia turned on her heels, her mind working on a solution to make sure this never happened again. 

—

Celia stood next to her husband as they decided what to do with the man who had attacked and injured her son. The guests from Joffrey’s nameday celebration were still present and the lords stood around the table in thought and discussion. 

When it had come to light as to why the man had attacked them the king had asked Oberyn Martell if he had known of such a plot. 

“My sister would have never demanded the life of a child for any reason,” the Dornish prince said. “Neither would my brother or I. We seek justice for her, but from the man who raped her.”

Celia closed her eyes. “Hand the Mountain over time the Martells for trial and judgment.”

Everyone grew quiet. 

“Celia,” Lord Tywin said slowly. “The Cleganes are our vastles.”

“And the mountain killed innocent children who could have been spared and raped a woman and killed her too with their blood still in his hands,” Celia snapped. “If you sent him only to capture them or perhaps kill only Rhaegar’s son so that there would be no Targaryen heir, he went against your orders and made an enemy of the Martells. If he was only doing as you told him to do…” Her good father’s face darkened and Ser Jaime placed a hand on the small of her back. “Regardless, the sending of a violent man such as the Mountain was a miscalculation on your part, my lord.” She could see everyone else visibly stiffen as she spoke to Lord Tywin, the old lion. “Such miscalculations almost cost you your heirs and your legacy.Where is your reflection, Lord Tywin? If we never look back, now can we tell that we have not tread this path before?” She looked him in the eye. “I will not have my children in danger again.”

Her husband pressed a kiss to her head before turning to his father. “My wife is right. You miscalculated, Father, and it nearly cost me my wife and children. Give the Mountain to the Martells.” Ser Jaime turned to Prince Oberyn. “Will that be good enough justice for you?”

The Dornishman nodded and Celia let out a small breath of relief.

—

Celia sat by her son as he slept in his rooms. The girls were asleep in their beds as well, but Celia wished to gaze at her son one last time before she headed to bed herself. 

She leaned in and kissed the top of his head. “You were so brave, my little lionfish,” she whispered. “So very brave.” Like his father and uncles. “I promise I will never let anyone hurt you again.”

—

Celia readied for bed at the mirror, taking the pins out of her hair to let it fall hang loose. She glanced at her reflection and saw her husband staring. His gaze was soft as he watched her loosen her hair and let the red tendrils fall down her back. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” she told him. 

Ser Jaime blinked at her. “Like what?”

Celia turned. “Like you love me. Go to your sister and give her the fourth child she so desires.”

Her husband stood and came up behind her, looking at her in the mirror. The memory of when Ser Jaime had her watch their coupling in the mirror flooded into her mind, the way he had turned her to face him, buried deep within her as she felt as though they had taken a new step in their relationship. She blinked it away. 

It had all been a lie. 

“And what if I do?” her husband asked. 

“Do what?”

“Love you?”

A whine nearly escaped her throat but Celia kept it hidden. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and leaning in to press his lips to her temple. “It’s the truth.”

Celia turned in her chair to face him. “Prove it.”

Ser Jaime bent down and pressed his lips to hers. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispered before kissing her again. 

Celia closed her eyes and kissed him back. She had missed the man she had thought loved her. Even if he only wanted a warm body to find release in. Perhaps she might gain another child from it. Perhaps she would be granted one more person to love in this loveless marriage. 

Ser Jaime hooked his arms under her legs and back and carried her to their bed. Celia opened her mouth to him as his tongue plundered her of all her senses. He laid her down in their bed, her chest heaving. Ser Jaime stood back and pulled his shirt over his head before he began to unlace his trousers. He dropped his trousers to the the floor but Celia hardly noticed with how his cock was already red and hard. He climbed over her and pushed her shift up her thighs and over her hips. 

“I need to see you,” he whispered, his voice rough with an emotion she couldn’t name. She sat up and pulled her shift over her head and he watched her with his green eyes filled with huger. “I want to hear you,” he growled. She was on her back, his lips attacked her breast as his teeth scraped along the sensitive— Celia cried out. “I want the whole castle to hear you.”

“But you never—”

“I want to hear  _ you _ , love. I want the whole castle to know what I’m doing to you. Let them hear it.” His lips wrapped around her teat as his fingers began to remind against her folds.

Celia’s head fell back onto her pillow. “Ser Jaime,” she moaned. His hot tongue trailed along her skin as he brought his mouth to her other breast. He nipped. “Ser Jaime!” His fingers sank into her and he began to take long strokes that Celia knew would never fully satisfy her but bring her so very very close to it. Her body was empty once more and she watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them. Sucking on them as though they were dipped in honey. 

“Gods,” he moaned. He looked up to her, his green eyes blown wide. “Tell me to stop,” he breathed. “Tell me to stop now or else I might not be able to.” He pushed himself up and hovered over her. She could feel his cock resting against her entrance. “I’m going to ravage you, Celia. I’m going to fill you with my seed, my seed that hasn’t been released anywhere save my hand since I last had you.”

Celia’s eyes widened and whimpered as she felt the head of his cock push into her heat ever so slightly. “Ser Jaime…”

“Tell me to stop, my love, and I will. I will never force myself on you. Never. But if you want me to, I will make you mine again. More so than before because I will claim you and mark you as mine so that every man and woman  _ know  _ that I belong to you and only you.” He bent his head over and pressed a kiss to her ear. “I want you to scream. I don’t want you to be quiet. Rage, my love. I want all your rage, then maybe…” his voice grew choked. “Maybe you can find it in you to love me again.”

Celia stared up at the canopy of their bed and closed her eyes. She pulled her husband’s lips to her own and devoured him. 

He was inside her then with no preamble and no need for one. She was already so wet for him that Ser Jaime met with no resistance as he sank into her. 

His pace was hard and fast. He cried out her name like a battle cry, it pounding off the walls like a hymn. “Tell me what you want,” he begged. “Please, love. Tell me.”

“Harder!” Celia cried. “Gods, Jaime, harder.”

He complied. Her hips were off the bed as he slammed into her over and over again unt his thumb pressed against her and she screamed her release. She couldn’t. She hadn’t in so long…

Jaime roared as he spilled into her, driving his cock so deep inside her that she felt as though he had pierced her womb. He collapsed atop her trying to breath, as though all the energy had been drained from his cock. 

It took her husband only five minutes to work himself up again and this time he took her from behind. It was not like it had been before this time he but and nipped and sucked and punched. He took her free hand and placed it where their bodies were connected. Celia moaned as she felt him slide in and out of her. 

“Jaime!”

“Yes!” She came apart around him as he became spent. He fell, still connected to her, on their sides. 

Another five minutes and she was on her back again, her knees pressed against her chest as he brought her to another release and spill. 

Ten minutes after that she was riding him. Her hands exploded the planes of his chest, the hardness is his muscles as he watched her in awe. 

“Take what you want, Celia,” he growled, bucking his hips up into hers. “Take it!”

She screamed her release, his name falling from her lips like a song. Celia collapses atop him as she tried desperately to let him finish inside her once more. He turned her in her back and finished, sinking into her and staying there until he grew soft. 

Celia didn’t know how long they had stayed there when she heard a knock come to their door. Jaime grumbled in annoyance and stood up and went to the door, not bothering to put any scrap of clothing back on. She watched him, pushing herself up on her elbows as his seed leaked from between her legs. 

“What?” her husband snapped when he opened the door. 

“The queen wishes to speak to you, Ser.”

Celia turned onto her side, away from the door. She couldn’t. She would not watch him leave.  _ Stupid girl,  _ she thought.  _ Stupid girl with stupid dreams who never learns.  _ How could she have been so foolish. 

She stiffened when she felt the bed dip and creak, ready for Ser Jaime to make his excuses. Instead, he cuddled around her, his arms pulling her close to him. 

“Doesn’t your sister need you?” she asked harshly. 

“I have you,” he whispered. “I don’t need her. I don’t want her. I don’t love her. I belong to you.”

Celia closed her eyes. 

If Jaime noticed her tears, he only showed it by holding her close and pressing a kiss to the back of her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Cersei wasn’t a part of the plot, but rather a Targ faction still in Westeros.  
Elia and the children gets JUSTICE in this. Heck yeah! The Mountain is dead by next chapter!  
Little Arthur is okay!  
And they are back! And if you guys noticed, Cersei calling to Jaime but here we have him staying with Celia is a callback/foil to Cersei calling Jaime on her wedding night and him leaving Celia. 
> 
> Time skip next chapter is Sansa’s first POV!


	31. Sansa I

They returned to Casterly Rock and settled back into their daily routines. Soon, however, the routine changed as Sansa’s mother grew larger and larger, her belly rounding out like Avari’s had. A baby, there was going to be another baby! Sansa hoped it was a boy so there would be even sides, even though it wouldn’t really be even since Mya was a girl too, but she usually sided with Arthur anyway. 

A few moons later, Eddard Lannister was born. 

Sansa loved her baby brother. Very very much. 

—

When Eddie was big enough to travel, they all went to Riverrun to meet and play with their cousins. Arthur sort of knew then, but Sansa had been a baby when they had last come this far north. 

Sansa liked her cousin Arya, even if she was a little wild. They got into plenty of mischief together, stealing lemon cakes from the kitchens and playing little pranks on the boys, with Mya often joining in. 

However, Sansa liked her cousin Jon the most. He was more quiet. While he didn’t mind roughhousing, he also didn’t mind sitting down next to Sansa and letting her weave flower crowns to place on their heads. She announced that they were the prince and princess of spring and he escorted her around the keep so that she might show off their crowns and her own flowe necklace. Her father had fallen to his knees and pressed a kiss to her hand saying he had never seen such beauty. Her mother had smiled, but rolled her eyes a little while her aunt and uncle chuckled. 

Sansa felt very proud of herself for making her father act silly. He was very serious very often and she liked it when he was silly. 

She liked Jon’s smile too.

—

Sansa sat in her grandfather’s lap as he worked on the ledgers for the keep. While her father often did it, her grandfather was still the lord of Casterly Rock and it was his duty to do most of the sums. Sansa didn’t normally do sums with her grandfather, she usually did them with her father, but he was busy training Arthur. 

“No,” Sansa said. She pointed to the mistake. “Three.”

Her grandfather paused and she could feel his gaze shift to what he had been writing to the number Sansa was pointing at. He paused for a moment, she could feel his breath tickle her ear as he mouthed out the equation. 

The old lion laughed. “It appears you have a better head for sums than your father does.”

Sansa beamed as her grandfather placed a kiss upon her head. 

—

“Father,” Sansa said as her father tucked her into bed. Because she was becoming a big girl, her parents had given her her own room just as they had given Arthur and Mya one.

That night it was her father’s turn to tuck her into bed. “Yes, sweetling?”

“Am I going to marry someone one day?”

Her father paused. “Most likely, yes,” he said. “Do I need to talk to some boy for you?”

Sansa thought of Jon. They had seen him last summer and Sansa found that she really liked him. “I wanna marry someone like you, Father. Someone brave and gentle and strong.”

She was confused on why her father begs to tear up, but did not complain when he leaned down and gave her a beardy kiss. 

—

Sansa worked hard beside her mother and sister as they worked on their embroidery. She had a knack for it, as Avari would say. She had her newest daughter, Ciel, on her lap, mouthing at a large scrap of cloth. Ciel was a pretty baby who took after her mother, although had Ser Vylarr’s eyes. 

Sansa didn’t really know what _ knack _meant, but she assumed it meant she was good at it. 

Sewing circle was also where they only spoke in Valyrian. Her mother had a thick accent, while Sansa and Joanna had barely one at all, but that was because they had spoken it since they were babies. 

“You never know when someone might say something not realizing you understand,” her grandfather had said. “Use it to your advantage.”

Sansa has branched out to learn other languages. The most interesting one being the Dothraki tongue. There was little academic books on the language, but Avari knew some of the language since her mother had known a Dothraki girl once. It was a harsh language, but there was something rather beautiful about it. They seem to say what they mean and mean what they say. It wasn’t a flowery language, but there was something rather beautiful about it. 

—

Sansa stood and clapped proudly as her brother, at only fourteen, was knighted by the king himself. Her brother!

Ser Arthur Lannister. 

—

She heard her father and grandfather arguing over a betrothal between her and her awful cousin Joffrey. Sansa did not like her golden haired cousin. He was mean and rude and almost cruel. She did not like him. 

She wanted someone brave like her father, gentle like her Uncle Ned, and strong like her Uncle Robert. She did not want Joffrey. 

She had cried when she told her mother she did not want to marry Joffrey. She had sent a maid to get her father and He came quickly, taking Sansa in his arms and promising that she would not marry him and that she would marry who she wished as long as the man got some approval from them. 

—

News came to Casterly Rock that Jon Arryn was dead and Sansa could feel a shift in the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think?
> 
> Jon gets a POV next!
> 
> Hey guys! I’m thinking of doing another Celiaverse story. Send me some ideas over at my tumblr!


	32. Jon I

News of Jon Arryn’s death reached Winterfell and there was a somber mood about the place. This was the man that raised Jon’s father. The man Jon was named after. The man who was their uncle. Jon has never met the man, but from what his father had said, the man was honorable and good. Everything Jon himself tried to be. 

A meeting was called by the king for them to meet at Riverrun since it was a sort of i between place for the three families to meet. The Baratheons, the Lannisters, and the Starks. It meant that Jon would see Sansa again. 

He had begun to develop feelings for his cousin the last time they visited Riverrun, just after Arthur had been knighted. He had been fourteen and she had been twelve. She had been radiant and bright and smiling. A contrast to Jon’s darker appearance and his naturally brooding nature. Jon had spent a good two years talking himself up and then out of writing to her. She was the niece of the king and the granddaughter of Tywin Lannister. Why should she be bothered by her second born Northern cousin?

It wasn’t that Sansa had given him that perception of her. She seemed nice and kind and overall friendly, but she was friendly with everyone. Because he was quieter, Sansa tended to spend more time with him. Her brothers and sister and Mya spent more time with the other equally wild Stark children. Sansa prefered to sit near Jon, and sew or play with flowers. They would tell each other stories of the West and North. It was fun and peaceful. 

Jon had heard some rumors that she might marry her cousin Joffrey, but his mother had brushed those rumors away quickly. His Aunt Celia didn’t like King’s Landing and doubted that she would want her daughter to live their perminantly. 

His mother had also added that she and his Aunt Celia had talked about betroth if Sansa to Robb.

The thought had made Jon’s stomach twist. It hurt that he could see it. His brother was the heir to Winterfell and next in line as Warden of the North, one of the largest kingdoms of Westeros. Why wouldn’t her family encourage the match. It made Jon’s stomach twist. He really didn’t have that much to offer her. 

—

Jon had thought about joining the Night Watch often. 

While he loved his twin brother, they were like the sun and moon. Complete opposites. Robb was bright and charismatic and easily likable while Jon was brooding and quiet and withdrawn. He was like his father, that what his mother and aunt said. Jon took it as a compliment, but even so. 

He had grown up in his brother’s shadow. He knew his parents didn’t mean for it, but it was hard to have your brother who was only two minutes older than you he trusted with all those responsibilities and he was left with only a little. 

Jon wanted to make a name for himself, but he doesn’t feel like he would enjoy being a knight or a kingsguard. Joining the Night Watch and becoming a black brother like his Uncle Benjen might be a way to do that.

Their Uncle Benjen was staying in Winterfell for a short while so that a Stark might remain in Winterfell. It had taken some talking to when it came to Benjen leaving his lost for a short while, but considering it was so the Lord of Winterfell could be called upon by the king, the Lord Commanded had allowed it. 

Joining the Night Watch would be a way to get from out of Robb’s shadow, that’s for sure. 

However, he would miss his siblings and parents. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle not being able to see them constantly as his Uncle Benjen has to.

—

Sansa had grown more radiant since the last time he saw her. Her hair was as red as rich clay. It was loose that day in the style that some of the Westerling girls had theirs in and Jon could only guess it was a style from that part of Westeros since the queen’s hair was up in a different fashion. 

His cousin was beautiful. 

She wore a golden dress with embellishments of Tully blue and red. She looked like a princess. The king himself had knelt down to kiss her hand and told her how she did her parents justice. Sansa had smiled, her cheeks turning rosy. 

His cousin was beautiful. 

Her green eyes sparkled like a sea of grass in the sun when she smiled and greeted the Starks. She had hugged Arya and the two girls began to whisper amongst themselves when they were dismissed, Mya joining them soon after she was done greeting their father. One of Sansa’s cousins, Joy Hill was with them. The girl was quiet and had barely reached the age of ten, but she appeared to cling to Mya or Sansa like an anchor. 

His cousin was beautiful. 

She smiled at him when she noticed him staring and he smiled back. 

—

Lyanna, Jon’s youngest sister, fruit into his room, her direwolf, Lady, trailing behind her. Jon huffed but helped lift Lady up into his bed next to the already sleeping Ghost and helped his sister crawl in bed next to him. 

Lyanna would never say it, but Jon guesses that he was her favorite brother. All their siblings were a little more wild but their Lyanna was quiet, the opposite of her namesake, as many of the servants liked to point out. However, they all adored the girl. Her fierce nature and her soft songs. Lyanna was the baby of the Stark family so, naturally, she was well loved. 

“Jon,” Lyanna whispered. “Tell me a story.”

Jon thought for a moment as he held his baby sister in his arms. “There once was a bastard boy who wasn’t truly a bastard at all. He was a prince. A secret prince that had been hidden away by his uncle to protect the boy from a vengeful king.”

“Did he have a lady love?”

“Aye, he did, a girl he thought to be his sister and she loved him too.” Jon continued to weave his tale of the bastard Snow and a girl kissed by fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today, but we’re going to get a long chapter tomorrow with a new POV from Ned.
> 
> Check out my tumblr, I made a list of Celiaverse fics with summaries!


	33. Ned I

As their children and wives slept, Ned, Jaime, and Robert sat in the library of Riverrun and drank in the candlelight of the evening. It had been years since the three of them had been able to get together. The last time being during the Greyjoy Rebellion. He glanced at Jaime’s missing hand, regretting not pulling the man of Euron Greyjoy sooner. It had been fitted with a golden one, something Robert had written to him with an absurd amount of joy, however Jaime never wore it in private.

It was hard to imagine that they would all end up here considering where they had all started. Jaime atop the Iron Throne, the blood of the Mad King glistening against his sword. Robert upon the trident with rubies spilling and mingling amongst Rhaegar’s blood. Ned holding his sister’s dead body and her dead daughter in his arms. Now, here they were, friends, brothers, fathers, family. If Ned has been asked where their lives would be, he would have never guessed this. 

“I can’t believe how far we’ve come,” Ned muttered. 

“All of us have gained a few pounds and a few grey hairs,” Jaime said, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “Some a few more than others.”

Robert kicked at Jaime’s chair, causing the knight to laugh. “I am an invalid, my king, it is wrong to torment me.”

Robert rolled his eyes. “Aye, and I’m sure the sky is green too.”

Ned chuckled. “You must admit, Robert, some have aged better than others.”

“Damn lions,” the king muttered and Jaime smirked. 

“To getting older,” the knight said. 

“To getting older,” the two repeated before all three took their last gulp of ale. 

“Have you thought about my offer, Ned?” Robert asked after a short moment. 

“Aye,” he replied. “I’m no good with Southron politics. Never have been. And I can’t just leave my children. Lyanna… she’s barely six. It feels wrong to leave her and the children.” He looked to his good brother. “I think Jaime would make a good Hand.”

Jaime scoffed. “A one-handed Hand would certainly make history. Much better than a kingslayer, I imagine. But no. I could never bring Celia to King’s Landing on a permanent basis.”

Ned and Robert nodded. They never really went into great detail, but they knew Celia had been there when Ned’s father and brother were killed and had a run in with the Mad King. It made sense then, why Jaime was so protective of her and the children. Ned knew the queen had suggested a marriage between Jaime’s daughter and the crown prince, but Jaime had refused. Robert had suggested a possible match between Joffrey and Arya, but could see that the girl was far too wild for King’s Landing. 

_ She’s like her aunt, _ Robert had said.  _ And she deserves all the freedom Lyanna could not have _ .

“Who should I make Hand then?” Robert asked. “I could ask Lord Tywin but the stubborn lion has begun to prefer spending his days with his grandchildren.”

“Says he’s retired,” Jaime said. “The liar. He’s not retired he just likes that I’m doing most of the work now.” The three chuckled. “I think you should take the post temporarily,” Jaime admitted. “Until we find a better replacement. Maybe Oberyn Martell would make a good hand, as long as we can get him to act like a Hand and not let him in every brothel man's pocket.”

“It may work,” Robert said, stroking his beard. “I’ll write to Prince Doran and see what he thinks. It would strengthen our ties with Dorne, that is for certain.”

“Besides, I’m sure everyone will be begging for Ned to leave after only a few days of him being Hand,” Jaime snickered. “He is a stick in the mud.” Nes kicked the knight’s chair. “I am an invalid, Eddard. Don’t think I don’t know what Celia threatened you with. I am well aware of where all the good dead fish are.”

The three laughed. 

—

When Cat received the letter from Lysa, Ned was already on edge. The idea that the man who raised him was actually murdered sat ill with him. Jon Arryn was old so it had saddened him to learn that the man had died, but was happy to know he had lived a long life. But now…

“This is Lysa we’re talking about,” Cat said gently. “She’s always been a little wild with her imagination. And accusing the Lannisters.” Cat frowned. “Celia would never take part in such a plot. I asked her to—”

A knock came to the door. 

“Who is it?” Ned asked. 

“Celia.”

“I asked her to come,” Cat finished. “Come in.”

Celia stepped through. “You needed me?”

Cat nodded and handed Lysa’s letter to her youngest sister. Celia looked over the letter’s content. Ned could see that she read over it multiple times and she grew pale. “How could she accuse…”

“I doubt she meant you, sweetling,” Cat said, putting her arm around her sister. 

Ned knew that Cat almost thought of her youngest sister and brother as her oldest children. She had mothered them since their mother had passed all those years ago. She was protective of her sister especially. 

“We would never harm Lord Arryn. He was always so kind. I don’t understand. I thought the maester looked him over?”

“Lysa might be chasing ghosts,” Cat said gently. “You know how she is.”

Celia looked over the note once more. “I would speak to Jaime, he had been more in the capital than I have. Perhaps he has heard something?”

Ned nodded and went to Jaime and Celia’s solar while his good sister remained withCat. Jaime let him in upon knocking. 

“What brings you by, Ned?”

“Our good sister is under the impression that Jon Arryn was murdered.”

Jaime’s eyes widened. “Murdered? By whom?”

“She claims it was a Lannister plot.”

The knight snorted. “Jon and I had our differences, but nothing so extreme. We barely talked outside of meetings and asking about the children. He never particularly cared for me. He thought I should have been executed or sent to the Wall after all.” Jaime frowned. “I would speak to Robert though. If someone did murder the Hand, that’s only a few steps behind murdering the king. He needs to be made aware. Do you want me with you?”

“No,” Ned said. “We best not bring too much attention to this. I’ll speak to him privately and then we can all speak together later tonight.”

Jaime nodded and Ned went to Robert’s rooms. He explained the situation to Robert as quickly and efficiently as he could. 

The king thought for a moment. “Lysa has always been rather odd. She lost a few children and all she has is her Robin. I noticed the boy was sickly and too dependent on his mother, more so than Joffrey ever was. I had suggested to Jon that Jaime and Celia might foster him. Let him be around his cousins and the ocean air might help him. Jon had thought it a good idea, but Lysa had shut such a notion down before we could even consult Jaime on it.”

Ned thought that Robin fostering at Casterly Rock would be a good thing. He could see why Jon might approve. It would be with the boy’s aunt and uncle but also in one of the safest keeps in Westeros. The issue with the Ironborn had been due to Celia leaving the gates open too long and the Ironborn betting heavily on her kind heart. They had since rectified the situation, creating smaller strongholds for the smallfolk to flee to should anyone attempt to lay siege to them again. 

“Lysa might be making a bigger deal out of this than it truly is. Perhaps Jon had simply reached his time.”

“The letter still bothers me. She seems so certain.” Ned thought for a moment. “I’ll take the position as Hand temporarily, until we can work on things in Dorne. I’ll investigate Lysa’s claims. Perhaps she has the right idea, but her accused culprit is wrong.”

“Pray that she’s wrong on both counts,” Robert said gravely. “This is not the time for our kingdom to be divided.”

Ned sighed. “When is it ever?”

—

Cat rested her head on Ned’s chest as they laid in bed that night, sated. His wife was tracing invisible patterns on his chest as he closed his eyes content. He had already told her that he was going to go to King’s Landing to check on Lysa’s claims, for no other purpose but to dispel them. It was better to see such rumors die down, especially if they might cause problems further down the line. 

“What are you thinking of, love,” Ned asked, his thumb grazing across the smoothness of her back 

Cat hummed, her chest rumbling slightly against him. “Celia shared some news with me. I asked and she said I could share it with you.”

“Oh?”

“She’s pregnant.” 

Ned opened his eyes and smiled down at his wife. “Truly?”

“The maester confirmed it a few days ago. She and Jaime had their suspicions but they didn’t want to say anything until they were certain.”

“Another Lannister running around. I’m sure Celia hopes for another girl to keep the boys outnumbered.”

Cat laughed. “She said she wanted a boy while Jaime insisted upon another girl. This one could stay at home with him forever and be her papa’s little girl.”

Ned chuckled. “Sansa and Joanna have him wrapped around their little fingers.”

Cat giggled. “That they do.” She sighed. “When my father insisted upon their marriage I had been so worried. But now… they’ve truly built their marriage haven’t they? Stone by stone.”

Ned smiled. “Aye, they have. As have we.”

Cat pushed herself up slightly and smiled, kissing him soundly on the lips. 

—

Ned watched as his children and nieces and nephews played together, although Jon and Sansa sat on the side as they usually did. Eddie was curled up in his cousin’s lap like a sleeping lion cub. His red hair was a mess of wild curls that was rather similar to Rickon’s and he could only guess how much trouble the boy often found himself in. 

However, Ned’s attention was drawn to his oldest niece and his second son. Sansa was brushing Ghost’s fur and seemed to be humming while Jon just watched her as though she had hung the moon and the stars. It was how Jaime looked at Celia and Ned knew it was how he looked at Cat. His second son had always been soft spoken and shy, taking after him in temperament as well as looks. But he also wore his heart on his sleeve. Jon had inherited that from Ned as well. 

“Jaime,” Ned called, motioning for his good brother to come. He motioned towards their children and he could see the knight smile. 

“He’s completely gone, isn’t he?”

“Aye,” he said. “I think he’d be ready to call it love if he were brave enough.”

Jaime huffed out a laugh. “He’s a good boy,” he said. “Nearly a man. I’ll speak to Celia and Sansa about it.”

“I’ll speak to Cat.”

“Would they live in the North or West do you think?”

“Jon’s the heir of Riverrun after Edmure,” Ned said. “I think they could live in the Riverlands. Harrenhal has no heirs and both children have Whent blood. It would be a good match.”

Jaime pondered for a moment before nodding. He offered Ned his hand and they shook on it. “Only if they want it,” the knight said. 

“Of course,” Ned agreed. “Only if they want it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the plot is thickening!!!!
> 
> I think the next Celiaverse fics I’ll write are the Viserys and Arthur Dayne ones. Th Arthur Dayne one will have sooooo much Jonsa feels though.


	34. Jaime XVI

“Ned and I were talking earlier,” Jaime began. 

“No, you can’t use me or Cat as an excuse as to why you can’t go hunting with Robert.” His wife laughed when she saw the face he pulled. Celia snuggled closer to him and pressed a kiss to his chin, nuzzling him slightly. 

“That wasn’t what I was going to say, but good to know that I can’t count on you.” She stuck her tongue out at him and Jaime took the opportunity to open his mouth and kiss her, twining his tongue with hers. Celia melted into his embrace and Jaime just smirked as she moaned against him. “Are you sure I can’t use you as an excuse?” he asked when he pulled back.

Celia slapped his stomach playfully. “Alright, What did you and Ned discuss?”

“Sansa and Jon.”

“Oh?”

“He’s smitten with her,” Jaime said, stroking his fingers along her spine. “Have you noticed?”

“Mm.” Celia rested her head against his chest. “So you talked about a possible engagement?”

“I know you and Cat had discussed Robb and Sansa, but she seems to like Jon more. Robb cares for Sansa and he’s the heir to Winterfell and all, but we thought they could possibly get Harrenhal since they both have Whent blood. What do you think?”

Celia thought for a moment, her finger tracing designs across his chest. “We would have to discuss it with Sansa. I want her to be part of the decision.”

Jaime nodded. “Ned said he and Cat would talk to Jon about it.”

Celia hummed. “Just as long as it’s not Joffrey…” She paused. “I know he’s your son—”

“Joffrey is Cersei’s. Tommen is Robert’s in every way but blood. Arthur and Eddie are  _ my  _ sons.” Jaime turned his head and pressed his lips to the crown of hers. “I’m sorry I put you in this position. Jon’s a good man, or as every but if a man as one his age can be. He’ll be a better husband to Sansa than I ever was to you.”

Celia sighed and pushed herself up so her face hovered high above his own. Her hand hung down the side of her face and brushed against his ear and shoulder. “Jaime, you’re a good man.” He scoffed and Celia put a hand on his cheek. “You are. You’ve made mistakes. You’ve done things we both regret, but you’re a good man. A great man.”

“I will never deserve you.”

She sighed and bent down to nuzzle his face, her nose nudging against his own. “It’s not about deserving, Jaime. I give my love to you freely.”

Jaime pulled her to him and held her close. 

“Jaime?”

“Hm?”

“What do you think of Lysa’s letter?”

“She’s just being Lysa and blowing things out of proportions. Jon was old, he’d lived a long life. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Even as he reassured his wife, he wasn’t sure. He was worried. If Jon Arryn  _ was  _ murdered. The question haunting all of them was:  _ Why? _

—

Jaime awoke in the middle of the night to Celia partially on her knees with her shoulders and face pressed into the matress. She was sighing and mosning softly and he could see her hips rolling ever so slightly. Jaime got up and pulled his shirt over his hips and did the same with her shift. 

“Jaime,” she breathed as he lined himself up behind her. 

He bend over her and pulled her hand from the apex of her thighs. He brought it back to his lips and sucked on her fingers as he thrust into her. He stilled, sucking her fingers clean before he would truly begin. 

“Jaime,” his wife whined beneath him, wiggling against him. 

He let her fingers free from his mouth with a pop and placed them in the bed above her head and began to move. Celia sagged in relief as he began to work her slowly. This wasn’t going to be their quick and hard couplings, but rather a slow and earnest one. Jaime didn’t have a preference for either one, it depended on his mood, although he knew Celia prefered it to be quick and hot when she wasn’t expecting. But she was, so she prefered to go slower for the babe’s sake. 

“Celia,” Jaime groaned as she squeezed around him. “Gods, if you weren’t already I’d threaten to put another babe in you. Want you to get big again. Been wanting it for forever.”

Celia sighed and mewled beneath him as his pace quickened only a little bit. “Jaime!” She moves his hand to her clothed breast as she began to rock back into is thrusts. “I want it, Jaime. Gods, I want it.”

“What do you want, love?” He began to kiss the back of her neck and shoulders. 

“I want another babe after this. I want another. Another!” She came around him and Jaime shuddered as he began to pound into her more quickly. 

His pace stuttered and he spilled into her, his seed coating her and he knew she’d be dripping when he pulled out. 

Jaime rolled onto his back when he softened and hummed contently when Celia crawled close to him. Jaime let his thumb trail along the slight bulge in her belly. “I hope it’s a girl.”

“A boy,” she said with certainty.

“What makes you say that?”

“A mother knows these things.”

Jaime snorted. “You thought Eddie was going to be a girl.”

“I hadn’t carried a boy in a long time.”

Jaime smirked and pressed a kiss to his widens head. “Why do you want another boy?”

“So none of us are outnumbered,” she sighed. “Including me and Mya, we have four girls in our family and there’s only three boys with you, Arthur, and Eddie.”

Jaime smiled. “I’ll love this little one either way.”

“Are we going to King’s Landing?”

“Only for a little while. I’ll make our excuses before the babe is born. Robert understands and so does my father.”

Celia sighed and snuggled closer to him. She pressed her lips to his shoulder. “I wish that place had no power over me. But…”

“The ghosts,” Jaime finished. “I know.”

“Have you thought of any names for the babe?” Celia asked, changing the subject. 

“Elia if it’s a girl,” Jaime answered. It felt right. 

“If it’s a boy?”

“Gwain,” he replied. “Gwain Lannister sounds good.”

Celia nodded sleepily and Jaime could feel her sag against him as sleep claimed her. They had a few hours left of sleep and Jaime would never deprive his sleeping wife of that. 

—

“Jaime.”

He froze and turned to look at his sister. Her once beautiful face was marred with a near constant frown and her eyes were almost constantly dangerous. He wondered, many times, why he had ever loved her. Why he had ever continued on with her when he had Celia by his side. 

“Did you need something, sister?”

“Is it true that you’re giving  _ her  _ another babe?”

“Yes, although I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s become a rumor already.”

Most of the people of Casterly Rock were well aware of how often he and Celia locked themselves away in their rooms or his study. They were probably more shocked at how long it was between this babe and Eddie. Jaime knew not either and supposed it was simply the will of the gods. 

“Why?”

“Why what?” Jaime asked. “Why is my wife with child again? I am certain our aunt had the discussion of how babes come to be, Cersei. Just as father so torturously informed me.”

That had been an unpleasant conversation. He had a similar conversation with Arthur although he hoped he had made it less traumatic than his own father had. 

“Come to  _ me,  _ Jaime. When our son and your—”

“No,” he said harshly. “Sansa will not marry Joffrey. I’ve already told you, I will not allow it.”

“Jaime—”

“No. Even if Joffrey weren’t a little shit, I still wouldn’t allow it. None of my children will marry yours. I won’t allow it.”

Cersei’s lips curved into a snarl. “If you don’t come back to me Jaime.”

“If you dare threaten my wife and children again, I swear to you I  _ will  _ tell Father and Robert. I will do it.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You think your friendship with Robert will save you?”

“It won’t,” Jaime sneered. “I don’t care. I will gladly take whatever punishment Robert gives me. My wife and children will be safe from you.” He stepped closer to his sister. “If you threaten my family again, I will destroy everything you have tried to claim for yourself and we will have no one else to blame but ourselves.”

Jaime turned and stormed away to return to his friends and family.

—

Jaime and Celia sat with their oldest daughter in their small solar. Sansa looked every inch like her mother although her eyes were a Lannister green. Although he had only spoken of a few to Celia, Jaime had received a few requests of marriage for their daughter. Less had come for Arthur, but he had no doubt it was because most assumed Jaime’s father would have more of a hand in arranging a match for his heir’s heir. 

“You wished to speak with me?” Sansa asked. 

“Yes, sweetling,” Celia said gently. 

“Sansa, you’re fourteen now and it’s time to start speaking if betrothment.” He watched his daughter grow pale and then blush. “You will not be engaged to Joffrey,” he assured her. Jaime watched as his daughter relaxed. 

“Have you thought of someone?”

Jaime glanced at his wife and nodded. Her returned his gaze to his daughter. “We had thought that an engagement to Jon might be well reviewed.”

Sansa seemed to think of it for a moment before she began to blush a deeper shade of red. 

“Would you like that?”

“He is everything Joffrey is not,” Sansa said diplomatically. 

Jaime smiled. “That he is.”

“Would you be happy to have Jon as a husband?”

She continued to think and then replied slowly. “He’s brave like Father, gentle like Uncle Ned, and strong like Uncle Robert.” Jaime’s heart twisted sweetly in his chest. “I… I think I could love him.”

“It’s a betrothment,” Celia said gently. “You would not marry for another two years or so. Is that alright?”

Sansa nodded. She smiled up at her parents and Jaime found himself smiling back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa and some of the calm before the storm


	35. Sansa II

With the thought of Jon being her future husband, Sansa began to take more notice of him. It was not that she ignored Jon, he was possibly the cousin she was closest to if she were to discount Arya, Mya, and Joy. Although, considering he was a boy, perhaps it would be proper of her to separate them in that way. 

Jon spent much of his time, when they visited the Riverlands, by her side and indulging her in her games. Mya and Arya prefered to play with Robb and Arthur. Joy prefered to spend time with Sansa’s mother and enjoyed spending some time with a few of the River girls who lived close by, especially now that she had become less shy around the new people. 

Yes, she spent most of her time with Jon, even when there had been some thought, or so she had heard, of her being engaged to Robb. She liked her oldest cousin, but found him to be a little too brash for her liking. There was nothing wrong with it and Sansa was certain there were many girls, Joy included, that thought him handsome, especially when he smiled. 

Jon, however was so much like Uncle Ned that people joked about it. He was quiet and thoughtful. He rarely, if ever, said anything that could come across as rude as Arya or Robb occasionally did. He indulged Sansa’s games and let her place flowers upon his head or around his neck. He played monster and maidens without complaint and treated her as though she were already a lady grown. 

Sansa did not know what he thought of her. She supposed that he liked her based on the fact that he did allow himself to take part in her games without complaint. She liked the way his smile spread slowly across his face, the way it brightened his features and brought a slight twinkle to his eyes. 

She rather liked his smile and often found herself smiling when he did too. Yes, she decided. She would not mind being married to Jon oneday.

—

Sansa curled up next to her cousin Arya. While she normally stayed with Joanna, she had convinced her younger sister to stay with Lyanna. 

“My parents have spoken about betroth omg me to Jon,” Sansa whispered to Arya. 

Her cousin snorted. “I heard my parents talking with Jon. He turned as red as a rose.”

“Do you think he does not want it?” Sansa asked, unsure of how she felt if Jon were to refuse the engagement. 

Arya rolled her eyes. “Jon looks at you like you built the Wall yourself. He probably keeps pinching himself, thinking it’s a dream.”

“He’s sixteen,” Sansa said. “Perhaps he wishes to marry someone else?”

“Most girls notice Robb, to be honest,” Arya said, offended on her brother’s behalf. “He’s going to be the next Lord of Winterfell after all. Jon’s real quiet too, so most people don’t really notice him. He’s like his direwolf Ghost.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being quiet,” Sansa said. 

“Never said there was, but it’s hard to notice Jon when Robb and Theon are doing what they usually do which is make a racket.” Arya paused. “Didn’t our mother’s once talk of you marrying Robb?”

“I think so,” she admitted. “But I don’t think I could ever marry Robb. He always seemed too loud for me. I’d rather have a husband that doesn’t mind sitting next to me as I sew.”

“Well,” Arya laughed. “Jon would be good for that then.”

Sansa smiled, blushing. “What if you? Have your parents talked of betrothal yet?”

“The king wanted me to marry Joffrey for a bit.” Sansa pulled a face. “Yep. That’s the face I made when he said it too. Mother was furious about me making it, but she was a bit relieved that the king’s never brought it up again.”

“And you’re coming to King’s Landing with us, aren’t you?”

“Father thinks it will be a good idea to see it. Make connections. I don’t think he knows if I should marry in the North or South.”

“Hm. And what if Bran? Will he come with us?”

“Nah, he’s going to the Wall.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “The Wall! But he’s only twelve!”

“He’s not becoming a member of the Night Watch. He’s just going to see it. Wants to see the Wall and all that. Mother was worried about him, but he said he felt like something was calling him to visit. Whatever that means. He’s been weird since his last nameday.”

“Hm. That is strange.”

“He’s always been a little strange, but it’s gotten worse since he got Summer. I don’t know why.”

Nymeria, who was at the foot of the bed, snorted at the mention of her brother. This dissolved the two girls in a fit of giggles. 

—

“Arthur?”

“Hm?” Her brother was doing the assignment their father had given him. Arthur hated sums and was rather bad at them, but their father insisted that he practice. He looked up at her happily, glad to have a distraction from the numbers scribbled across his paper. 

“What do you think of the betrothal?”

She desperately wanted her brother’s approval. It meant the world to her. Arthur was the greatest boy she knew. She would not say man because sometimes he wasn’t as mature as he liked to think he was. Besides, their father would beat him in that contest anyway. 

“Between you and Jon?”

Sansa nodded. 

“I’d be mad if it were anyone else, I suppose.” He shrugged. 

“Why’s that?”

“Well, he’s better than Joffrey. He’s a right prick.” 

Sansa giggles and shoved her brother’s shoulder slightly. “Arthur!”

He grinned at her, it reminded him of their father a bit when he was playing a joke on them. “Jon’s got a good head on his shoulders and I know he’s treat you right based on how he acts around Joy and Mya.”

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t treat them like they aren’t ladies because they’re a Stone and a Hill.”

Sansa nodded. She supposed that made sense. “Are you ready to go to King’s Landing again?”

“Only so I can spar with Renly and Uncle Robert,” he admitted. “I could care less about actually being anywhere near Joffrey.”

Sansa giggled. “I best leave you to your sums.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “I was hoping I could use you as an excuse for Father.” 

Sansa laughed and pressed a kiss to her brother’s cheek before she went off.

—

“So,” Sansa said nervously. 

“So,” Jon repeated gently. 

It was strange that he was only two years older than her. He was so mature compared to Robb and Arthur. She felt like a little girl compared to him and she wondered if he thought the same. 

“Are we betrothed?” she asked. 

“I…” he turned bright red and Sansa could see what Arya meant about the shade of his blush. “I would not fight against it if it was what you want.” He glanced at her. “I would not… Well… Um… it wouldn’t be for a while now, not until you’re seventeen and I’m nineteen. But… you know.”

Sansa wondered if this was the longest she had heard him ramble. He had rambled on occasion, but never for so long or so badly.

“You can always decide to end it later,” Jon said quickly. “I wouldn’t force you to keep a betrothal you didn’t want.”

“I don’t mind it,” Sansa said quickly. “I like you, Jon.”

He froze for a moment when his eyebrows rose and his slow smile spread across his features until he was grinning at her like she just told him he was the king or something. Sansa smiled back at him, a blush spreading across her cheeks. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

It was warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some adorable Jonsa for you!
> 
> And since someone asked, here are the Stark and Lannister kid ages:
> 
> Mya Stone—19  
Arthur Lannister—16  
Robb Stark—16  
Jon Stark—16  
Sansa Lannister—14  
Arya Stark—14  
Joanna Lannister—12  
Bran Stark—12  
Rickon Stark—10  
Eddard Lannister—9  
Lyanna Stark—6


	36. Celia XVI

“Arthur,” Celia said as her son sat down next to her. 

“Mother,” he replied. 

Gods, how he had grown. He looked just like Jaime did when he was sixteen. Although, Arthur’s eyes were as blue as Celia’s. It seemed like only yesterday the maester had placed him in her arms and he had gurgled at her. How she wished things could remain that simple, where she was the most important person in her son’s life. But he was nearly grown and that could not be.

“Do you know why I have asked to speak with you?”

Arthur looked down at his lap. “I can guess.”

“As you know, we’ve already talked of a betrothal with Sansa. She’s younger than you are so I do not doubt you wonder if we have made such a match for you.”

“I have an inkling.” Her son still did not look at her. 

“Arthur—”

“Why can’t Uncle Robert legitimize her?” Arthur asked, finally looking at her. His eyes were pleading. “She’s a girl, so it’s not as though she can take away Joffrey’s claim.”

Celia’s stomach twisted. She could. If anyone learned the truth, Mya would be her father’s heir. Even if she wasn’t properly legitimized, she was Robert’s only acknowledged bastard that anyone knew of.

“She just can’t, Arthur.”

“But why?”

“Can you truly see Mya acting like a princess?”

“She could be like Visenya.”

Celia sighed, but smiled slightly. “Perhaps she could, but it isn’t up to me whether or not she is legitimized.” She took her son’s hand in his. “I’m sorry, Arthur, but you can’t marry Mya. Does she even care for you that way?”

Arthur looked away. “I don’t know. She’s Mya. She doesn’t exactly share her feelings about that sort of thing.”

Celia huffed out a laugh. “I suppose not.”

“I just… She makes me want to be better.”

“Better?” Celia asked. “Better than what?”

“Just better. For her, for the family, for Casterly Rock. I just… She makes me what to become a better man. A better man, like Father.”

“Your father is far from perfect,” Celia said, letting her son’s hand go and instead wrapping her arm around him and letting her fingers card through his hair. “None of us are perfect. Never think otherwise or people may disappoint you.” She kissed his temple. “I’m sorry, Arthur, but you can’t marry Mya.” Although it broke her heart to know that her son could not marry the girl he wanted. 

“Then who am I to marry?”

“We have thought perhaps Margaery Tyrell or Brienne Tarth.”

“Margaery is insipid,” Arthur snorted. 

Celia shook her head. “She’s cunning and very much in her family pocket, although I’m sure your grandfather would love the access to the Reach.”

“I don’t know much about Brienne Tarth,” Arthur admitted. 

“She is not… pretty,” Celia admits, having seen the girl once. “However, she is kind and has been trained with the sword. She wants to be a knight, actually.” She stroked her son’s hair again. “I would not mind having a knight as a good daughter. I think you both might be able to start out as friends.”

Arthur nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

“We will hold anything official off until you can think on it.” She kissed her son’s hair. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

“I know. But it was a good dream.”

“They all are.”

—

Celia sat in. The carriage, Eddie’s head in her lap. Her fingers ran through his red curls as she thought. Sansa, Arya, Joy, and Joanna shared the compartment with her. Sansa and Arya spoke in whispers while Joy and Joanna discussed the latest color trend that they heard was popular in King’s Landing. Jaime, Arthur, and Mya were riding just outside the carriage. 

It reminded her of when she was first called to the capital. If she closed her eyes she could still feel the deep rooted excitement she held for every wheel roll towards the Red Keep. She had been so innocent of politics and heartbreak. 

Celia opened her eyes and looked at her girls. 

Sansa was betrothed and happily telling Arya of what she would want her wedding to be while Arya interjected some Northern tradition that might be added. Although Arya was  _ not  _ betrothed to Joffrey, there would still be talks of it. Ned had mentioned that the son of his friend Howland Reed might be good. Celia barely remembered Lord Reed from Harrenhal, but recalled that he was a good man. Joy was a bastard, but Celia had not doubt that Lord Tywin would make a good match for her. She was a sweet girl, if a bit timid. A good man with a kind heart would do her good. Every girl needed a bit of good romancing. Joanna was only twelve, but Celia and Jaime had already begun to get offers from lords about her hand in marriage. She had written briefly to Doran Martell about possibly betrothing her to his son, Trystane, and the Dornish prince had not seemed opposed to the idea. Perhaps Celia could speak with Oberyn once he came and claimed the title of Hand of the King. Mya has a choice of marrying or not. It was her own prerogative. She was a strange girl, but a good one. She would come into her own wherever she landed in the future. 

Celia closed her eyes once more. Jon Arryn was dead and someone might have murdered him. She was broken from her thoughts as Eddie climbed further into her lap. He saddled himself across her lap and rested his head against her shoulder, yawning. Celia combed her fingers through his hair and kissed his red curls. 

She would protect them all. She would not let any of them lose their innocence. Not if she could help it. 

—

Cersei was screeching. 

Celia had to close her eyes and grit her teeth as the queen wailed at how her poor Joffrey was maimed and his arm had been practically torn apart by Arya’s direwolf, Nymeria. Ned had his arm around his daughter and held her close to him. Arya’s face was red with either embarrassment or anger, and Celia was more inclined to believe it was the later. 

“The only reason Nymeria bit are Joffrey was because he hit me!” Arya shouted. “Look!” She pointed to the bruise blossoming along her cheek.

“You attacked me first,” Joffrey roared.

Eddie whimpered in Celia’s arms and she pulled her son closer to her. Jaime wrapped his arm around her and whispered gently to Eddie about how everything was okay and that no one was angry at him. 

Celia glanced at Cersei and saw the woman’s eyes were as green as wildfire. Jaime pulled Celia closer and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Ignore her,” he whispered. “Focus on Arya. We need to sort this quickly before Cersei does something even more foolish.”

“Sansa,” Robert said. He motioned for his oldest niece to step forward. She did as she was asked and Robert stood to kneel before her, taking her hands in his. “You were there. Tell me what happened.”

“Arya and Mycah, he’s the butcher boy, were playing with sticks, pretending to be knights,” she said evenly. “Joffrey had had too much to drink, even though Arthur said he shouldn’t because our parents would be upset. He saw Arya and Mycah playing and he called and ordered to know what they were doing. Arya turned around and Mycah wasn’t able to stop his stick in time and hit her on the shoulder. It’s bruised, but it’s not so bad.” Sansa sniffed as tears began to form along her lashes. 

“He threatened Mycah, your grace,” Joy added. She stepped forward with a curtsy and stood behind her cousin. “He held his sword, his  _ real  _ sword to Mycah’s throat. Arya was just protecting her friend when she pushed the prince away. Then the prince started to—” She bit her lip, glancing nervously at the queen and prince. 

“He began to fight Arya with his real sword and she fell down and he called her a bad word,” Joanna continued from her spot next to her brother. “The word Mother said only horrible men use to describe women, and Nymeria came to protect Arya after Joffrey hit her and she fell. The wolf let go as soon as Arya told her to. Then, Arya threw his sword into the river and she and Nymeria ran off.”

“Liars!” Joffrey shouted. 

“You’re the liar, Joffrey,” Arthur growled. “My sisters and our cousin speak the truth. You know it and you just want to cover the tracks.”

“Quiet,” Robert ordered. “All of you.” He looked to Sansa, Joy, and Joanna. “Thank you for telling me what you saw. It takes a brave woman to speak the truth when they see that someone has done wrong.” He turned to the prince. “Joffrey, I have told you time and time again that it is our words that must sting, not our swords. You are the future king, but as of now you are a boy who has yet to learn he must reign in his temper. You must use your words, not your fists.” Robert sighed. “You are too much like your mother in that regard.”

“That beast hurt my son!” Cersei screeched. 

“After being provoked,” the king reasoned. “Besides, the beast is long gone and there is nothing for us to do except learn.”

“You mean to say you will not punish—”

“I am not the Mad King. I will not punish anyone or any beast for seeking to protect that which they hold dear.” He turned to Joffrey. “I will not have you turn into Rhaegar with your selfishness.” He looked at them all. “Send the children to bed.”

—

Jaime and Celia settled into their chambers at King’s Landing. The Red Keep had not changed since they had last been there, but their youngest had. Eddie was snuggled between them, not used to the capital’s walls. 

Celia snuggled into her son as her husband held them close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Arthur.... But Brienne of Tarth mention! (She’s seventeen in this, so her canon age and, therefore, one year older than Arthur)  
Celia wanting to protect her baby girls.   
The Trident incident with a very different Robert.  
They are in the Red Keep! Let the Game begin...


	37. Arthur I

“Alright,” Arthur said, lifting his cousin’s arm slightly and balancing the way he held the practice sword in his hand. “You have to stay balanced, Tommen, or your opponent will be able to know you over easily.”

Tommen was easily Arthur’s favorite Baratheon cousin. He liked Myrcella well enough, but she preferred to spend time with Sansa and Joanna and he rarely had time to spend with her. She was sweet, like Joanna, but he simply didn’t know her well enough to make a thorough opinion of her. Joffrey was a git and Arthur had no idea how in the seven hells he shared the same blood as Myrcella and Tommen. Gods, Joffrey was the worst. 

“It’s so hard,” Tommen muttered.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Arthur promised. “I wasn’t born with a knighthood, you know.”

“Feels like it,” Tommen muttered. “You and Uncle Jaime both.”

Arthur chuckled. “Well, we weren’t. I’m sure you’ll become a great knight with some practice.”

“I prefer the hammer,” Tommen admitted. “But knights don’t really use them.”

Arthur scoffed. “Pretty sure knights don’t actually care as long. As they’re able to protect their people properly.”

Tommen smiled. “I suppose so.” He frowned. “I want to become a great knight someday, like you and Uncle Jaime. I…” He chewed his lip. “I want to make Mother proud. She always seems to prefer Joffrey, and, I know he’s going to be king and all, but she’s my mother too. I love that Father spends all his time with me and Myrcella when he can, but I wish Mother would too. Maybe… maybe if I become a knight, maybe even a member of the kingsguard, Mother might be proud of me.”

Arthur’s heart broke for his cousin. He wasn’t particularly fond of any of his aunts besides Aunt Catelyn, but he had grown up more around his Aunt Cersei. She was charming when she wanted to be, but, more often than not, she was neglectful if anyone or anything that wasn’t Joffrey or relating to him. He had heard his parents discussing Cersei’s neglect towards Myrcella and Tommen and Arthur knew his mother did everything she could to give them as much maternal affection as she was allowed to when they would come to King’s Landing or when the Baratheon’s visited Casterly Rock 

Every child should know that their mother loved them. 

“I’m sure your mother is proud of you,” Arthur said, putting his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “She’s just focusing on Joffrey because, let’s be honest, he’d piss off the entire kingdom if someone wasn’t fretting over him every hour of the day.”

Tommen chuckled. “I know when you’re lying, Arthur,” his cousin said. “You do this weird thing where you only squeeze with your thumb when you lie.”

Arthur pulled his hand back. “I do not.”

The youngest prince snorted. “You do. It’s weird.” He smiled. “But thanks, I needed that.” Tommen stood up just a tad bit straighter than before. “Okay, let's keep practicing. Do you think Father might let me squire under you? Uncle Renly offered, but…”

“Renly can be really annoying?”

“Yeah. He keeps going on and on about Margaery Tyrell whenever he visits and I’d rather not listen to that.”

Arthur snorted. “I’ll see what I can do.”

—

Mya spurred her horse forward, the dappled mare whinnying as she galloped along the fields just outside King’s Landing. Arthur followed behind her as Mya cackled with glee. 

“I do believe I shall beat you,” she called from ahead of him. 

“I fear you will not!” Arthur dug his heel into his horse’s side and he short forward. 

He loved this.

He loved going out for a ride with Mya, where nothing beyond them and their horses mattered. He was not the Lannister heir and she was not the king’s bastard. They were just Arthur and Mya. Just Mya. Just Arthur. There was nothing that separated them but age and whatever distance their horses were. 

Even so, occasionally, a thought would come that would remind Arthur that he couldn’t always have what he wanted. He would never force his feelings upon Mya, although he was certain she knew of them. She was smarter than she let most people believe, although his parents and her father certainly noticed it. She probably noticed, but did not return them. Gods, he might even seem like a child to her. He is only sixteen and she nineteen.

“I won!” Mya laughed as she circled her horse around Arthur’s when she reached their chosen finish line. “I have beaten the best knight in all the realms.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I am hardly the  _ best  _ knight.”

Mya snickered. “That’s not what you tell everyone.”

“Well, everyone doesn’t know me as well as you.”

She smiled at him and Arthur wished he could freeze that moment in time and, in his heart he would. He knew his mother was right. His grandfather would never allow him to marry a bastard, and the queen would never allow Mya to be legitimized. So, when he married, to whomever his family picked, he would remember this moment. He would treasure it in his memory and try to move on. He wouldn’t try to hold onto what might have been, but he would treasure all the moments he was allowed to have with Mya. Then, he would try to learn to love his wife. It was all he could do, no matter how much it hurt in the moment. 

“Mya?”

“Hm?” she hums, pulling her mare up beside his stallion. 

“Could I wear your favor in the next tournament?”

The brightness of her features darkened and the spell over them both was broken. Her smile flattered and her gaze grew distant. She looked away from him, back to the Red Keep where they would be Ser Arthur Lannister and Mya Stone. “You should wear Sansa or Joanna’s, or even Joy’s.”

Arthur swallowed. “Could I not wear yours. We…” his voice faltered. “We’ve known each other for so long. Surely no one would—”

“They would,” she said, quickly. “They would.” She took a deep breath. “We should get back.” She clicked her tongue to her horse and spurred the mare on again towards the place where titles and birth mattered. 

—

Arthur glanced at Margaery Tyrell as she fluttered her eyes towards him. He hated that he needed to be polite and couldn’t just retract his arm from her ivy-like hold on it. It’s part of why he liked Northerners so much. They said what they thought and didn’t lie to your face when asked what they thought. 

She was trying to charm him, he knew, although her true goal was Joffrey, and Arthur wouldn’t wish that on his greatest enemy, if he even had a worst enemy. He knew that Margaery wished to be queen and she was trying to charm him to get into Joffrey’s good graces. 

It took everything in Arthur to not roll his eyes. 

When they had all been first introduced to Margaery, she had taken on a sort of elder sister role to Sansa and Joanna. However, as soon as she realized that Joffrey didn’t like or care for Sansa and Joanna, Margaery had abandoned them for her own cousins when it came to friendship. It had been the first time Sansa had ever really cried when it came to friendships and Arthur found that he loathed the Tyrell girl ever since. 

She and her family were visions social climbers that didn’t mind suffocating anyone who got in their supposed way. They had even fought alongside the Targaryens and only switched sides in the very end. It couldn’t eventually be called switching sides. They had simply stopped opposing the Baratheon forces. They went wherever the wind blew in terms of power and Arthur disliked them all for it. The only two Tyrells that Arthur could stand were Garlan and Willas, but both  _ rarely  _ ever came to King’s Landing that they couldn’t make up for the rest of their family. 

Olenna Tyrell was just awful too. She always tried to pinch at Eddie’s cheeks and Arthur was quite certain his brother was terrified of the woman. 

“What do you think, Ser?” Margaery asked. 

“Pardon me, my lady,” he replied. “What was the question. I find that I was lost in thought about the upcoming tournament.”

She giggled, and gods if that had not been the most forced noise he had ever heard. “I was asking on the rumors of your sister’s betrothal to the prince.”

“My parents have already spoke against it. She’s engaged to our other cousin, Jon Stark.” Much better than Joffrey in literally every way. His parents had already sent inquiries to Lady Whent about them possibly taking on Harrenhal. Sansa would make a good lady of a great keep and Jon was smart enough to listen when he needed to. Jon was, quite honestly, one of Arthur’s favorite cousins. 

“Oh?” Margaery asked, intrigued. 

“Yes. My sister doesn’t wish to be queen.”

“Someone must do it,” Margaery said. 

And gods help them all if it is her. 

—

Eddie snuggled into Arthur’s arms and the older boy hummed a sort of grumble that comes from sleepfulness. “Bad dream?”

“Yeah.”

“About?”

“Aunt Cersei and Joffrey.”

“Ah. I have nightmares about them too.”

“Really?” Eddie was definitely more awake than Arthur was. 

“Really.”

“But you’re a knight!”

“Knights can be scared. Father was really scared during the Greyjoy Rebellion because Mother and us were all trapped in Casterly Rock with they Greyjoys.”

“Is it okay to be scared then, if knights can be?”

“You can’t be brave if you’re not scared.” Arthur pulled his brother closer to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you so you don’t have to be so scared. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cousin/brother bonding? Tommen and Myrcella deserve hugs. Cersei was a crappy mother to them in canon too.   
Mya and Arthur! The angst and pining! Do you think Mya likes him too?  
Ugh. Margaery. Show!Margaery was OKAY, but the Tyrells are the Lannisters with a more cohesive family unit.  
Little Eddie!


	38. Joy I

“You’re so lucky, Sansa,” Joy said in a whisper at their sewing circle. “Jon’s so handsome, and he’s really kind too.”

Sansa’s cheeks turned a bright pink, her green eyes bright. “He truly is.”

“Are you going to work more on your maiden cloak?”

“Mother says we’ll start when we get back to Casterly Rock,” she said. 

“Could I help?” Joy asked. “I’ll never make one myself, but I would love to help you.”

Sansa smiled at her. “Of course! Your beadwork is the pride of the Lannisters. What you did with pearls for Great Aunt Genna’s bodice for her nameday was gorgeous! Mother said that Aunt Genna thought it was done by her.”

Joy blushed happily. “It was nothing really. I just like patterns. Mother was blind so I liked making things she could see.”

Joy remembered very little of her mother and even less of her father. However, she could remember how difficult it had been for her mother to enjoy embroidery and stuff like that, so Joy has made thick patterns so she could  _ see  _ it. That was the only thing she retained of her mother. The images she had when she thought of her parents had long since been replaced by her Aunt Celia and Uncle Jaime. They had taken her in after her father had been lost at sea. She was going to go to another relative, but Aunt Celia has demanded that Joy stay with them at Casterly Rock. 

“I’m sure Mother will help you with a maiden cloak whenever you get married,” Sansa said. 

“And what shall I put upon it?” Joy giggled. “Hills?”

“Well, you are a Lannister,” she replied. “We could give you a red lion upon a golden shield or something like that.”

The girls giggled.

“Everyone calls  _ you  _ the red lion,” Joy said. 

“They do not!”

“They do to!”

“Girls,” the septa said in warning.

“Sorry, Septa,” they replied together. They glanced at one another and giggled again. 

“You really are luck, Sansa,” Joy whispered. “Jon is so kind, much kinder than Robb or Theon. He’s like a knight in all the songs.”

Sansa blushed again. “He is. But he listens too. Mother said she had to train Father to learn how to listen, but Jon just does it.”

“And I heard Lord Tywin will be speaking with Lady Whent about you and Jon getting Harrenhal. It’s such an honor.”

“I know. But I’m so nervous. I’ve never been in the Riverlands for an extended period of time. What if none of the ladies like me there?”

“They’ll love you,” Joy assured her. Who couldn’t love Sansa! She always saw the good in people, well, except for Joffrey. “Maybe I can go live with you in Harrenhal. I could be like how Avari is with Aunt Celia.”

Sansa grinned. “Then you can find a man like Vylarr.”

Joy blushed. She did always think that Vylarr was very handsome. 

—

Joy did not like wandering the Red Keep on her own, but sometimes she needed to in order to sneak some food from the kitchens. The staff there were always well aware of what she was doing, but they said very little about it. One of them even gave her extra lemon cakes for Sansa and herself on occasion. She was on her way to the kitchens when she saw him walking the halls by himself. 

She froze when she saw Joffrey coming down the hall and began to panic. She glanced around, hoping for a place to go before he noticed her, but it was too late. 

“Bastard,” he said in a biting tone. 

Joy flinched. She was never more aware of her bastard status when she was with the crown prince or the queen. 

“Come here,” Joffrey ordered. 

Joy did not move, her heart pounding in her chest. 

“Now!”

She walked to him with purpose, but also with a large amount of reluctance. She gave him a curtsy. “Yes, my prince?” Joy would never refer to him as a cousin. 

“You lied to my king father,” he said with a sneer.

Joy looked to her feet. She was not the only one to tell the truth, but she was the only one who was a bastard. Mya hadn’t said anything, and Joy should have followed the older girl’s example. 

“I spoke of what I saw, your grace,” she replied calmly, still not looking at him. 

Joffrey grabbed her by the wrist so tightly, dragging her to him, that she thought he might break it. “You lied,” he hissed. 

Tears began to prick, Joy’s vision. She wanted to scream, but she knew that some men only served the prince and queen and she was frightened that they would be the one to hear her and make sure that no one saw them. “Please, your grace, you’re hurting me.”

“It’s my right to hurt liars,” he seethed. 

Even so, Joy tried to push his hand from her wrist. “Please, let go.”

His grip only tightened. 

“Joffrey.”

The two children turned and saw their Uncle Jaime coming towards them. He wasn’t dressed as a knight by that point in the day, but he might as well have been in Joy’s eyes. 

Joffrey let Joy go and she quickly went to her uncle’s side, hiding behind him and clutching at the hem of his tunic.

He put his hand on her back, but did not look at her. “What’s going on here?”

Joffrey lifted his chin proudly. “We were just speaking, Uncle.”

“That is not what it looked like.” Uncle Jaime looked down at her kindly. “Are you alright, Joy?”

She nodded, burying her face into his side. 

The knight turned to look back at the prince. “On your way before I tell your father.”

Joffrey said nothing, but Joy could hear him leaving. 

After a short moment, Uncle Jaime pulled away and knelt down before her. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you alright, Joy?”

She glanced at him and nodded. However, tears began to form in her eyes and Joy tried desperately to wipe them away. 

Uncle Jaime sighed gently before pulling her into a hug. Joy wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he rubbed her back gently. “Shhh,” he whispered as she cried into his neck. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” He picked her up and held her like he had when she was smaller. “It’s going to be okay.”

—

When Joy was smaller, she used to have a rather large crush on Arthur. He was brave and gentle and strong and just like her Uncle Jaime and the sort of hero from songs. She had liked him quite a bit and had always offered him her favor whenever he went to fight in tournaments. He had always politely accepted, even when she had embroidered little hearts on them, but he had always accepted Sansa and Joanna’s as well. 

It had taken her a rather long time to get over her feelings for Arthur. She would always rather like him since he was always very kind to her, but his affections, she now knew, were more brotherly than anything. She had never had a brother before, but once she became more of a sister to Eddie, she finally grasped that her own feelings for Arthur were that of a sister. Besides, she was only a bastard and he was the heir to House Lannister. 

With Sansa betrothed, Joy began to wonder if she would ever be married to a lord’s son or if she would marry boy with the last name Hill or no name at all. She wanted her children to have a name that wasn’t Hill. Her aunt and uncle never made her feel any less for having the Hill name, but she always wondered what it would be like to have the security of a name of a great house. 

She thought briefly of the boy, Podrick, that she had met a year or so ago. He was from a lesser branch of House Payne and she wondered if he would be the type of boy she would marry one day. He had been kind and he was a little handsome. Joy wasn’t sure. 

Either way, she hoped she would be as happy in her future marriage that Sansa seemed to be. 

—

Joy snuggled into the bed next to Joanna. The younger Lannister girl was having one of her  _ bad days _ as Aunt Celia referee to them. Joanna has woken up with more difficulty breathing that day and Joy, as always, was the one that would stay and keep her entertained. That usually meant sharing gossip or telling each other stories and so forth. Joy liked it because they could both just stay in bed the entire day. 

“I heard your mother talking, she’s going to see if you might get to meet Prince Trystane is Dorne,” Joy whispered. 

“Really,” Joanna’s eyes widened.

“Yes,” Joy nodded. “I heard your parents say you reminded them a bit of Princess Elia and they were  _ certain  _ Prince Doran and Oberyn will love you.”

The younger girl’s smile grew bigger. “I’ll get to be a princess.”

Joy giggled. “You will. With you going to Dorne and Sansa to the Riverlands, I’ll have plenty of places to visit.”

The two girls giggled some more. Their dreams were so large, they could only imagine that they would come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys like Joy Bill’s POV? 
> 
> Her and Sansa talking about Jon!  
Dad!Jaime strikes again!  
Podrick mentioned!  
Joanna sick for a bit, but she’s okay!
> 
> Come ask me anything about my fics on tumblr! It’s my day off today!


	39. Jon II

_ Dear Jon, _

_ We have reached the Red Keep and I am already bored. I wish we could go back to Casterly Rock or return to Riverrun. My mother and father say that we have to wait for a month or so before we can go.  _

_ I have decided that, since we’re engaged, we should write each other. We have known each other as cousins and now we shall know each other as husband and wife one day.  _

_ I want six children.  _

Jon, who had been drinking a little wine, swallowed wrong and began to cough. He set the letter down and turned away from it as he spluttered and coughed against the burning liquid down his throat. He took a smaller sip to sooth the slight pain before he continued. 

_ I want six children. Three boys and three girls. I have already picked the boy names and you can pick the girl names. Our oldest son will be named Jaime, after my father, then Robert, after my uncle and your brother, and then Rickard, after your grandfather. Even if Jaime has red or brown hair, his name will still be Jaime. _

Jon snorted to himself, but smiled. 

_ As you said, we won’t marry for another three years, but Mother said honesty is the best thing for a marriage so I should be honest about what I want.  _

_ Eddie says “hi,” by the way. He would write it himself, but his writing is utterly unreadable right now. Father says it’s just so he can get out of working on his letters. _

_ I will try to write to you as soon as something interesting happens. And if nothing interesting happens in the next three days, I’ll write you again anyway.  _

_ Your loving future wife, _

_ Sansa _

Jon smiled. His smile grew wider when he saw that she had attached a lock of her hair do him to have. 

—

“What’re you thinking about, Jon?” Theon asked, a smirk on his lips as he put his arm around Jon’s shoulder. “Got a little red head on your mind?”

Jon blushed and tried to shrug the Greyjoy’s arm off him. “Get off.”

“Ooo~” Robb said, coming up to Jon’s other side and mirroring Theon in behavior and expression. “I think he is. You thinking about Sansa?”

Jon glared at his twin. “She’s my betrothed, of course I’m thinking about her.”

“You’re a lucky man, Jon,” Theon said. “They says she’s going to rival the queen in beauty one day.”

“Probably because she doesn’t scowl all the time,” Robb snickered. 

“You’re both just jealous,” Jon muttered. 

“Us?” They said in unison. “Jealous?”

They began to laugh and Jon just rolled his eyes and bent slightly to get out from under their arms. The two boys held onto each other and continued to laugh. 

Gods the my could be so annoying. 

—

_ Dear Sansa, _

_ I would name our daughters Catelyn, Lyarra, and Minisa. I think they’d be good names. I’m not really good at names and I think I would have to meet these hypothetical daughters before I decided upon a name.  _

_ Winterfell has been nice. It’s been a lot more quiet with Arya gone, if I’m being honest. It’s rather weird. Lyanna has taken it upon herself to make as much noise as possible and it’s driving my mother halfway mad. I don’t mind it though, except for when Mother has me handle it.  _

_ You’re right about honesty. My father says the same thing. To be honest, I’m not sure how many children we’ll have, but I’ll have as many as the gods give us. We could fill up every room of Harrenhal if we tried hard enough. Maybe have a kid every year, although the maester said that wasn’t the best idea in the world.  _

_ Maybe I can plant a whole lemon orchard for you and have the cooks make you lemon cakes every day. Does that sound good? _

_ Your faithful future husband, _

_ Jon _

—

Jon hugged Bran tightly. “I can’t believe you’re going to the Wall.”

“I feel like I need to go there,” Bran said, pulling back. “I don’t know why, but I feel like that’s where I need to be.”

“Don’t take the vows if you don’t mean them.”

Bran gave him a slow smirk. “Not all of us have been in love with the same girl for years, Jon, and actually get to marry her.”

Jon blushed. “Whatever.”

Bran made to turn to hug Rickon, then stopped. 

“Dragons are possessive of things, even if they don’t belong to them.”

Jon blinked. “What?”

Bran shrugged. “Don’t know why, but I felt like I should tell you that.”

“Dragons are possessive of things that aren’t theirs?” Jon repeated. 

“Yeah. Don’t know what that means, but I suppose it’s my weird advice to give you before I head out.”

“You  _ do  _ know  _ I  _ am your older brother and it’s sort of  _ my  _ job to give  _ you  _ advice.”

Bran rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Jon.” He smiled. “Maybe next time I see you, you’ll be married.”

Jon chuckled. “Hopefully I’ll see you before then.”

Bran smiled and then turned to Rickon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter, but we got a bit of Jonsa moments in there.
> 
> Just a reminder, Sansa is fourteen in this and Jon is sixteen. 
> 
> Anyone want to guess what Bran’s warning is about?


	40. Mya I

Mya’s father had always been a large part of her life. When she was small she vaguely remembers hoping, dreaming, praying that Ser Jaime was her father. She knew, back then, that she looked nothing like him, but she had hoped simply because he was the one who had come for her. Then, she learned her father was the king and he would never truly be able to be a father to her, no matter how much both of them wished it. 

She knew there was a difference between the king and her father, something she knew her half-siblings and cousins could see as well. 

Her father was a loving man who always put his family first. The king sometimes had to spend hours away from them as he hammered hour a way to make the kingdom a better place. Her father didn’t mind breaking the rules a bit so he could have fun with the children and be the father and uncle he wanted to be. The king had to uphold the law, even when he didn’t wish to because he had to be fair, he couldn’t be partial to his family or children. He had to be a good king. Mya knew that he never wanted to become like the Mad King or Prince Rhaegar. 

She was practicing her archery with her father that morning after breaking their fast. It was how they would bond. She didn’t quite have the build to wield a hammer, but she was good at hunting, especially with a bow and arrow. 

“Good job, Mya,” her father said, patting her back when she hit just off center. “Is something on your mind? You’ve seemed off today.”

She mulled it over in her mind, about whether or not she should talk to her father about it. She could never bring it up to her aunt and uncle. They were kind and Mya knew they loved her as a daughter, but she didn’t want to burden them with something they could not help her with. 

“Arthur asked to wear my favor at the coming tournament,” she admitted. 

“Oh?” her father asked. “I always knew he had good taste.”

“Father,” Mya grumbled. 

“What? Do you not have a favor to give him?”

“I am a bastard. He should wear his sister’s or a lady’s. Even Joy’s since they’re cousins by blood.” She could feel, rather than see, her father’s eyes narrow. 

“Do you wish him to wear your favor?” the king asked. 

Mya chewed her lip. “I don’t know. I… I’m nineteen and he’s sixteen. He’s a Lannister and I’m just a bastard. Even if we were raised together, we’re too many worlds apart. He deserves a noble lady from a noble house. Someone Lord Tywin would accept and someone who was…”

“You are worthy of everything you want, Mya.”

“Except the Baratheon name,” she muttered, wishing she hadn’t said that,

“I never legitimized you for very specific reasons. I suppose part of it is because you reminded me a bit of Lyanna. A part of me will always love her and mourn her fate, however it came to be what it was, and I never wanted to force any future in you, any betrothal you would not want.” Her father put his arm around her and pulled her to his chest. His beard tickled along the crown of her head. “We’ll talk of legitimizing you at the tourney, I promise. I’ll even talk to the old lion about a betrothal.”

Mya hugged her father back tightly, burying her face in his chest. 

—

Celia was barely showing as they looked through the stores of fabric kept in the Red Keep. She was no longer wearing a corset, which always signifies to Mya that her aunt was expecting. That and she kept running her back and belly at odd intervals. And Ser Jaime has begun to hover a lot more than usual. 

Celia sighed. “I know we are looking at fabric for me, but this would be such a good one to use for Joanna’s nameday.” She was touching a red fabric with golden embroidery already stitched in it. “And the blue back there would be perfect for Sansa for the next time she sees Jon. And the yellow before that would make a wonderful tunic for you.”

Mya rolled her eyes but smiled. Celia was the closest thing Mya had of a mother, barely remembering the woman who gave birth to her. Her father spoke very little of Mya’s mother, but knew that their romance had been that of two bored teenagers. 

“Perhaps if we narrow down to a color,” Mya suggested. 

Her aunt sighed as a few tears pricked at her lashes. “Now I’m just getting weepy. Oh, this is truly the worst stage for me, the beginning. I always get so emotional.”

Mya patted the woman on the back. “It’s okay, Aunt Celia. Just don’t cry too much or Uncle Jaime will fret more than he already is.”

The lady laughed. “Yes. Your uncle is quite the worrywort when it comes to me and the children. No matter how many children I carry for him he always worries trying to make up for… well. He has a lot he tries to make up for, but never for the children. He’s always been a good father.” She laughed again. “I still remember when Eddie was born he actually sat down on the floor the first time he held him and cried. Cried. Right in the floor. Oh, your father has never quite let him live that down.”

Mya chuckled. She remembered the aftermath of that. Everyone in Casterly Rock from Vylarr to the newest stablehand would not let Ser Jaime forget that he was brought low by his minutes old son. 

“Aunt Celia?”

“Hm?” 

“When shall we return to Casterly?”

“Well before I get too much bigger. Your uncle knows I prefer to give birth at home. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“We have to wait until Prince Oberyn arrives, we want to speak of Joanna possibly spending the summer in Dorne after the baby is born.”

Mya could see Joanna in Dorne. The maester even said the heat would be good for her, help her lungs clear out more than it did in the occasionally nippy air of the Westerlands. 

—

Mya liked the twins. Myrcella and Tommen were sweet were kind to pretty much everyone. The only two that she disliked in her father’s family was Joffrey and her father’s wife. 

The queen was a bitter woman who Mya knew didn’t care for the king at all. Even so, she was so rude and her treatment of Celia was horrible when they were all in private. Lady Celia always took it in strides with such grace and regality that Mya’s aunt seemed more like the queen than the queen did. 

Mya always tries to stay out of the queen’s way, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. 

“You, girl.” 

She turned and looked at the queen for a long time before dipping into the smallest curtsy possible. “Yes, your grace.”

“Tell me, is it true that Lady Celia is with child again?”

“To my knowledge,” Mya said. 

“And Sansa is engaged to that Stark boy?”

“If you mean Jon, then yes.”

The queen scowled. “And what of Arthur? Any betrothals?”

“No.” Why did she not ask Ser Jaime? Mya knew her uncle and his twin were not on good terms, but she couldn’t really  _ not _ know anything. Could she?

“I suppose there is that then,” the queen said with a sniff before leaving Mya alone in the hall. 

—

She dreamed of Arthur. Well, she knew it was Arthur, but he looked just a bit older, closer to her own age, but just as handsome as ever, if not just a tad more rugged. 

He was atop her and she could almost feel him nestled between her thighs and she could feel his lips against her own. She had never kissed before, but part of her wished it could be Arthur that takes her first one. 

She dreams of Arthur and she wakes up panting and wanting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robert’s a good dad!!! 😭😭😭


	41. Arya I

She hated the prince. Hated him. 

He was rude to Sansa and Joy and Mya. Rude and horrible. How anyone could be so mean to people like Myrcella and Tommen was beside Arya. 

“You are to be my wife!” Joffrey shouted. “My lady, you must act properly!”

“I will act properly when you do!” Arya snarled, ignoring his wife comment. “You act like a baby!”

“That’s enough, both of you.” Arthur grabbed both of them by the back of their collars and separated them. “Have some decorum, you’re just embarrassing yourselves.” Although he was saying this to both of them he was mainly looking at Joffrey. “You’re the crown prince, you can’t let every little thing get to you. Gods help us all if you don’t grow up.”

Joffrey yanked himself away from Arthur’s grasp. “You aren’t my brother and have no right to tell me what to do,” Joffrey’s wormy lips curled into a snarl. 

“I may not be your brother, but I am older than you and your cousin. Stop acting like a child or no one will respect you.”

“I am your prince!”

“Then act like it.” Arthur shifted his hand so he had Arya’s arm slipped through his. “Come along, cousin, I’m sure everyone is wondering where you are.”

Arya followed her older cousin. He was like a distant older brother really, in the way that he treated her. She supposed he was used to looking after less troublesome siblings. Sansa rarely did anything that needed correction. Joanna couldn’t get into that much trouble. It felt like kicking a puppy when reprimanding Joy. Eddie was just four and didn’t do much to get in trouble anyway. 

“Are you alright, Arya?”

“Yeah. He just makes me so mad. He keeps saying I’m to be his queen when I’m not.”

“Just ignore him. Aunt Cersei wanted Sansa to marry him at first but Mother wouldn’t allow it.”

“At least I can fight back with him,” Arya muttered. “Sansa’s too nice.”

Arthur snorted. Sansa is a Lannister. She has more roar than people think. 

—

“Just a little higher,” Uncle Jaime said helping Arya position her hand just right. He wasn’t technically supposed to be helping her with her swordplay, but Arya’s father didn’t complain. Afterall, Uncle Jaime was one of the greatest swordsman in Westeros, at least he was before he lost his hand. He was still really good though. 

He’s always been patient with her when it came to her interest in the sword. It’s probably why he didn’t mind Mya training either. Sansa and Joanna weren’t really interested, and Eddie was too young to use anything but a toy one. Arya liked it when her uncle ruffled her hair when she did something correctly. 

“You’re my favorite uncle, Uncle Jaime.,” Arya said. 

He snorted. “I’ll make sure to tell Edmure that next time and Benjen, whenever I see him next.”

Arya pouted. “They don’t teach me about swords.”

The knight chuckled. “I suppose not. It’s quite nice, being the favorite uncle.” 

Arya rolled her eyes. “You’re everyone’s favorite uncle.”

His grin grew wider. “Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetling,” he said before helping shift her elbows into a better placement. 

—

They were all preparing for the tournament. Arya didn’t particularly want to go, but she supposed it would be interesting to see Arthur and Uncle Jaime compete. 

“Shall I be without a token, my love?” Uncle Jaime asked Aunt Celia in a slightly teasing tone. 

Her aunt smiled demurely. “I believe I have already given you my token, Ser.”

He touched the blue fabric at his neck. “I do believe you are right. I fear, though, that my nerves have gotten the best of me.”

Arya’s aunt rolled her eyes before getting on her toes and pressing a kiss to Uncle Jaime’s lips. 

Arya made a face, even though she thought it was sweet. Her parents, although very much in love, were never so openly affectionate with one another in public, while Aunt Celia and Uncle Jaime did not seem to hide their love for one another in the public eye. 

“I do believe you have grown since I last saw you, Celia.”

Arya’s uncle stiffened and glared at the person who had just spoken. Arya glanced around the person and found a skinny man with dark hair and a goatee. 

“Baelish,” Uncle Jaime said, not even trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. 

“Petyr,” Aunt Celia replied more lightly. 

Ah, Arya has heard of him. Her mother spoke of him rarely, but she did speak of him. 

“I will probably bet most of my coin on you, Ser Jaime. I hope you don’t disappoint.”

“If I win it is not for you.”

The Master is Coin smirked. He glanced to the side and Arya saw him looking at Arthur and Sansa. Sansa was fussing over her brother as she tied her favor to his wrist. “The crown prince certainly looks like Arthur did when he was that age.”

Arya could see her uncle stiffen and she turned her gaze to him. 

“They are cousins,” Aunt Celia said. “Afterall.” Arya could see her aunt squeeze Uncle Jaime’s arm. “Eddie looks a bit like Robb when he was that young as well.”

Lord Baelish returned his gaze to Aunt Celia and he smirked again. “I suppose. Funny thing, family resemblances.”

—

“I want to go home!” Arya sulked to her father. 

“We need only stay a little while longer,” her father assured her. 

“I don’t care. I want to go home.”

“If this is about Joffrey—”

“I don’t want to marry Joffrey!” Arya shouted. 

“You aren’t—”

“He might  _ look _ like Uncle Jaime and Arthur, but he’s  _ nothing _ like them. He’s nothing like the king either! He’s like the queen! He’s horrid!”

Her father opened his mouth as though to speak, but froze, his eyes widening. “What did you say?”

“He’s nothing like the king! I hate him.”

Her father was frozen for a moment before kissing the top of her head. “It’s time for you to settle in for bed. Goodnight, Arya.”

He then fled the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shoe is being dropped.


	42. Ned II

Ned looked through all the records he could find of Baratheon marriages and their children. Dark hair, usually blue eyes, like all the bastards Jon had been looking into. There was even a Baratheon married to a Lannister centuries ago who didn’t look one bit like their Lannister mother. 

Ned knew that wasn’t saying much. Half of his children took after Cat completely, but the other half took after him. 

Neither of the princes looked like Robert, not even the strong jawline or anything of that nature. The princess had none of the strong Baratheon features that the Lady Shireen had exhibited from what Ned could remember of the little girl. 

Yet, Joffrey looked almost exactly like Arthur did when he was that age, although Arthur’s eyes were a Tully blue. Joffrey did, however, look like Jaime. 

Ned’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. No. It couldn’t possibly be true. There was no possible way that Jaime would…

He’d already forsworn his vows as a kingsguard and killed the Mad King. He could break so many more oathes then that. 

Ned didn’t want to believe it, but there was no other logical explanation. 

Jaime had been the one to father the queen’s children. 

—

Ned grabbed Jaime by the collar and slammed him against the wall. The knight held up his hands, his face entirely still. 

“You broke your vow,” Ned hissed. 

There was a tick in Jaime’s jaw. “I’ve broken many vows.” He glanced to the side of Ned’s head. “Just a tiff between brothers,” he said to the Lannister men that had been walking with him. “No need to worry.” He turned his gaze back to Ned. “We should move this elsewhere if you intend to make a scene.”

“Make a sce—”

“Robert set a study up for me near my chambers for whenever I visit, so I could get work done for Casterly as well as write to Celia and the children.”

“You have no right to speak her name,” Ned hissed. 

Jaime pursed his lips and his eyes narrowed. Something in his countenance began to recede until his face became blank. “Ah, so you’ve learned  _ that  _ have you?”

Ned snarled. 

“Better make this quick then. We know the Stark temper has been withheld for quite some time with you.” He brushed Ned’s hands away from his collar. “Follow me.”

—

“You betrayed your vows to Celia!” Ned shouted after Jaime closed the door. 

“To be fair to the boy I was then, I hadn’t intended on keeping them at that point.”

“And that makes it better?”

“It doesn’t, but fairness is hardly ever better.”

Ned narrowed his eyes. This was not the Jaime he knew. This Jaime was cold and withdrawn, like the Jaime he had found sitting on the Iron Throne. 

“Did you father the princes and princess?” Ned asked through gritted teeth. 

“I did.” He paused and took in Ned’s expression. “What? Did you think I would deny it? You must have found damning evidence if you came to me about this.”

“Baratheon children tend to take after their father.”

Jaime closed his eyes, as though centering himself. “That makes sense.”

“Why would you do it Jaime? Why would you ruin your chance at redemp—”

“And what is it that I needed redemption for Ned? Killing the Mad King? He deserved to die. You know as well as I what he was. Not being able to protect Princess Elia and the children? The Mountain has been brought to justice and Arthur bears the scars from those who wished restitution. I need no redemption.”

“Yet you fuck your sister?”

Jaime cocked and eyebrow. “Never thought I would hear you say that word,” he mused. “I won’t deny that I had, although I haven’t done so in years.”

“Too dangerous?” Ned sneered. 

“Didn’t want to.”

“Why, Jaime?”

“It started before I was even knighted,” he admitted. “Before Celia was even a thought in my mind.”

“And after?”

“You didn’t see Robert and Cersei’s marriage at the beginning.” Jaime turned to look out the window of his study. Ned followed suite and saw Celia playing with the children, although she was being more careful. “He called her Lyanna on their wedding night.” He sighed. “You saw how bloody drunk he got back then. He even hurt her physically, apparently.” He appeared to want to say more, but did not. 

“That is no excuse—”

“It’s not an excuse,” Jaime said. “It’s a reason for my actions. Not good ones, but my reasons.” He looked to Ned, blank faced. “So, what do you want me to do?”

Not even Ned was fully certain and stormed from the room in anger. 

—

A knock came to Ned’s door. 

“Come in.”

Celia entered carefully, dressed in Lannister red with a gold trim. She was showing already, the slight swell of her stomach showing that she and Jaime were to have another child. How would she take the news? How could he protect her from it?

She closed the door behind her and looked at him, worried, her hand carefully placed over her belly. “I heard you and Jaime fought today.”

“It was a disagreement,” Ned said quickly. “There’s no reason to worry.”

She frowned, tears pricking at her eyes. “Ned—”

“It’s not something you need to worry about or bother with.”

“I know the truth, Ned,” she said gently. “I’ve known since I was pregnant with Joanna.”

He stared at her for a long time. “You can’t possibly—”

“Jaime fathered Cersei’s children,” she said, her tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’ve known for a long time now.”

Ned was out of his seat in an instant, holding the girl he viewed as his sister. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

“What was I to say?” she asked. “My own children would be at risk.”

“They wouldn’t—”

“They would. And Jaime hasn’t been with Cersei in a long time. He loves me Ned.”

“He doesn’t regret—”

“He regrets hurting me, he regrets putting our children in danger. The only reason he hasn’t said anything was because Cersei threatened me and the children.”

She pushed away from him and clung to his tunic. “You can’t tell anyone, Ned. You can’t. Arthur, Sansa. Joanna, and Eddie will be ruined if the truth comes out.” She put his hand on her belly. “This child’s life will be ruined. Please, Ned, please.”

“Joffrey is a cruel child,” Ned said. “He has no right to be king. I’m sorry, Celia. But Robert needs to learn the truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the short chapter today! I had to write in the back of the car which is the worst!
> 
> But yeah, Ned and his honor


	43. Jaime XVII

Celia returned to their room in tears. “What did you say to him?” she asked. “Why couldn’t you have lied?”

Jaime stood and went to his wife, wrapping his arms around her as she broke into a sob, burying her face against his chest. He closed his eyes and felt whatever resolve he had with Ned crumble away at the sight of his wife’s trembling form. 

“Love…”

“Why won’t he listen? It’s better as a secret.” She looked up at him, her eyes already red. “I can’t lose you. Please don’t leave me.”

“Celia.”

“Why didn’t you just lie. Tell him that it was someone else, someone who was not you?”

Jaime got down on his knees and held Celia’s hand in his. “He would have asked Cersei love and she would have told him the truth. It is better he hears it from me.”

“No,” she said, pulling herself from him and Jaime felt so empty. “It is better if he heard it from no one. Why, Jaime? Why did you tell him as you did?”

He stood and went to her, wrapping his arms around her again. “He knew the truth Celia and I could not let you or the children be hurt by it.” He buried his face in her hair. “If I can play the villain to him, just as I did when he found me upon the Iron Throne, I can save all of you. He loves you, Celia. He would never tell you, but you are the sister he lost. He loves you and would never allow any harm to you. Robert loves you to. You are his sister and he wants you happy as well. They won’t harm you or the children.”

“You don’t know that!” 

“I do. If I play the villain, if I let all their hatred focus on me, you and the children will be safe. You’ll be safe.”

“How can we be safe if you are not there? The children need their father. I need you too.”

Jaime pressed his forehead to her temple, nuzzling against her. “You’ll be safe. My father won’t let anything happen to you. Neither will your sister or Ned or Robert.”

“Jaime—”

“The children must hate me too.”

She pushed him away again, or tried to. “No. No, no, no!”

“They have to. They can hate me all they want as long as they’re safe. As long as they’re safe I can take anything.”

“Jaime, please. You’re a good man, you don’t deserve this.”

“I should have accepted that this life I’ve had with you, the best years of my life, was borrowed time. Just as Princess Elia and the children were not able to live, so will I be unallowed to see our children grow up.”

“Jaime, please. Please, don’t leave me.”

“I will keep you as long as the gods allow me to have you,” he promised. “I love you, Celia,” he whispered. “I love you.”

—

That night, Jaime rested between his wife's thighs, his head against her rounding belly. Celia’s fingers stroked through his hair, her nails dragging against his skull. He own hand was tight against her hips, not wanting to let her go. 

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you.” He was such a coward. He knew what had to be done, what needed to be done, but he didn’t want to let his family go. He didn’t want to spend his life away from them and he didn’t want Celia to be alone. 

“You will never lose me,” she replied. “I’m yours, Jaime. Now and forever. Yours.”

“I need you,” he choked on the words as a sob began to wrack through his body “I need you.”

Celia shifted so he was on his back and she got on her knees, straddling him, but not touching him. She pulled at the strings of his trousers and undid them until they were loose enough for them to be opened and she pulled him out, wrapping her hand around his length. He groaned into the air as she began to work him until he was hard and aching. Then, she was astride him, sinking onto him with a soft cry, tears pricking after her lashes again. 

It was slow, the way she rode him, her hands pressed against his chest as she ground down against him with every sinking of her hips. Jaime clutched at her hip as he began to roll his hips to meet hers. 

This was more than passion, it was love. 

They didn’t know how many more nights were allowed them. They didn’t know how many more moments they would be given before they were torn apart.

This was life and longing and everything good that was in him. 

“Celia,” he groaned as he felt himself nearing his end. “Celia.”

“Let go, Jaime,” Celia whispered. “Gods, let go.”

He turned them so she was on her back as he began to pound into her, finding the same rhythm as his heart as he became so close…

“ _ Celia… _ ”

He did not fall atop her, wary of hurting the baby, the baby he might never meet, the baby who would have no memories of their father loving them, the baby who would grow up hating him. 

Celia cupped his face in her hands and brought her forehead to his, nuzzling him and kissing every place her lips could reach. 

He hadn’t realized he had still been crying until Celia began to kiss the tears away. 

“I love you,” Jaime whispered. “I love you.”

—

Jaime helped Arthur with the maintenance of his sword and he wondered how many more moments like this he would have with his son.

Arthur was everything Jaime  _ wished _ he had been himself. His son was a true knight, truer than any other knight that resides in King’s Landing. 

“I want you to have my sword,” Jaime said.

Arthur looked at him with an arched brow, an expression he had gained from his mother. “Won’t you be needing it?” Arthur asked. 

“Yes, but when the time comes, I want you to have it.” Jaime held his son tightly. “I love you, Arthur.”

“I love you too, Father,” he said, squeezing Jaime back. 

—

“You’re a good girl, Mya,” Jaime said as he helped her steady her bow. She’d stretched her wrist just a tad too much the day before, but she had insisted on practicing her aim. 

The dark haired girl looked at him curiously. “Okay?”

“I still remember when you first came to Casterly Rock and asked if I was your father,” he smiled. 

“Ugh! Uncle Jaime, I was a child!”

He laughed. “I know. I know.”

“You’ve grown into a wonderful young woman, Mya. I’m glad I was allowed to have a hand in that.”

The girl smirked, looking just like her father for a moment. “Me too.”

—

“Then you shall walk me to the heart tree,” his daughter finished as she explained what little she understood of Northern weddings. “Just like Southron weddings,” she said. “But outside.”

Jaime listens to Sansa continue to rattle on. She had been very interested in weddings since it was announced that she would be engaged to her cousin Jon. The boy was a good lad, everything Jaime wanted in a husband for his daughter, when he was being honest with himself, and Jaime had been trying to be honest with himself recently. 

“I’m sure you’ll look beautiful,” Jaime said, stroking his daughter’s hair. He wouldn’t be able to see her marry. He wouldn’t be allowed to walk her down to Jon’s side and give her away. “Shall we practice our walk?”

Sansa beamed up at him and linked her arms through his. She held her head up high as they slowly walked down the pathway of the garden. 

“I love you, Sansa.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “I love you too, Father.”

—

Joy was sitting in the library reading and copying books that were reserved for the Red Keep’s library. Robert has allowed her to copy some of the stories so she might take them back to Casterly Rock. 

“I have something for you, Joy,”Jaime said. He pulled out a large leather bound book. “It’s a journal where you might copy any of the stories you like in one place. You could even write your own if you wish. I know your nameday isn’t for another month, but—”

Joy lept from her death and threw her arms around Jaime’s neck. “I love it! Thank youUncle Jaime.”

He laughed and hugged her gently. “I’m glad you do.”

—

Joanna was curled up in bed with a slight cough. Jaime laid down beside her, letting her head rest against his chest as she matched his breathing.

“Father?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I will ever get better?”

“I think you’re perfect just the way you are,” Jaime assured her. 

“But I’m not strong like Mother or Mya.”

“You don’t have to be strong like them,” Jaime did, bending his neck to kiss the top of her head. “You’re strong in your own way, my little lion. I think you’re one of the strongest people I know.”

His little girl looked up at him and smiled brilliantly. 

—

Jaime tucked his youngest son into bed that night. “Have you had a good day, Eddie?”

“Mhm,” his son yawned. “I got to spend it with you and Mother.”

Jaime smiled. “And that makes it a good day?”

Eddie nodded. “Can you sing, Father?”

“For you, my sweet boy? Anything.” Jaime thought for a moment. “ _ He rode through the streets of the city, / Down from his hill on high. / O'er the wynds and the steps and the cobbles, / He rode to a woman's sigh. / For she was his secret treasure, / She was his shame and his bliss. / And a chain and a keep are nothing, / Compared to a woman's kiss. / For hands of gold are always cold, / But a woman's hands are warm! / For hands of gold are always cold, / But a woman's hands are warm! _ ”

Eddie sighed. “What’s the song about?”

“Me loving your mother,” Jaime said. “More than any hand or hair of gold in the world.” He bent down and kissed his son on his brow. “I love you, Eddie.”

“Love you…” his son whispered as he drifted off to sleep. 

—

Jaime stroked his wife’s belly as she slept, sated and content. “I love you, little one,” he whispered. “You might never know how much, but I love you. I wish I had been a better man. One day, maybe you’ll understand that a good man accepts the consequences of his mistakes. Maybe one day you’ll see me as a good man, but it’s okay if you don’t. I love you, my little cub. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

—

Robert was injured in a hunting accident the next day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime saying goodbye in his own way.
> 
> And Robert has been injured!!!


	44. Robert I

He couldn’t even remember her face anymore, the face of the girl he had almost married. He couldn’t remember her smile or her laugh. He could not recall the way her hair was, whether it was dark brown like Brandon’s or a lighter brown like Ned’s. He could recall loving her, of her being the only thing he ever wanted, of seeing a strength in her that reminded him of his mother long lost to him. Had that been what attracted him to her? No. It was because he wanted a true brother in Ned. 

He had failed with his own brothers. He had been sixteen when he had taken over lordship of their home. Stannis had been only fourteen and Renly had been only one. Robert had no idea how to take care of his brothers and he had been so busy trying to handle all that their parents had left them. 

He could remember the Mad King when he had not been mad at all. He could remember the Targaryen man putting his hand on Robert’s shoulder and telling him he was a man now and must act like it. He could not worry of others for they must take care of themselves. He was not to stretch himself too thinly. He had followed his king’s advice and had lost his brothers in the process. They were strangers to him and no matter how many years had gone by he was never able to mend what had been broken. 

He had not wanted to fail Ned. So, when Rickard Stark has approached him in a betrothment to Lyanna, Robert had been excited. She had seemed so full of life and Robert had thought perhaps she would bring life back to Storm’s End, a life lost when his parents died. 

Had he loved her or had he liked the idea of her. Would he have been able to build a marriage like Ned and Jaime, despite all the setbacks? Would they have been happy together? Would she have been happy with him?

Would he have grown as much as he had if she had lived and they had married?

He thought of her and the baby girl she had died with. A girl who would have been no older than Arthur or Jon or Robb at the time. A girl who was his cousin by blood. 

What would have happened had they lived? What would have happened?

His thoughts went dark. 

—

He could remember when Mya was born. Her mother had been a woman he had sought a warm bed from, but he knew that she did not love him and he had been a green boy, nervous and unsure of himself, told by many he was to marry some lord’s daughter and be the Lord of Storm’s End one day, he would need to know how to pleasure a woman. 

Even so, Mya has been a surprise. She had been so small that Robert could remember sitting there in his chair and asking Jon if she was big enough, if she was big enough to survive. He remembered being a young boy and having a sister once. A small sister who coughed and wheezed in her cradle until she did not breathe any longer. He remembered crying and asking Jon if she was big enough. His foster father had put a hand on his back and told him she was strong, that she was strong and she would live. And live she did. 

His girl, his little girl who was so like him. She took after all of his strengths and none of his faults. Jaime and Celia had done well in raising her. 

Joffrey. Gods, he had been a fool about Joffrey. Still lost in his sorrows he had not been present at the boy’s birth. He had remained distant. He had not been a father for so long, yet still, he had worried. When he had first held the boy that would be his heir in his arms, the boy had cried and screamed and, in that, Robert knew he was healthy and would live long. He had been frightened to touch Joffrey. Frightened that he might be ruined. Everything he touched seemed to be ruined. His marriage was ruined by his own hand. The Small Council did not bother to ask him about things, going to Jon instead. Robert had been so very frightened of ruining Joffrey that he let Cersei take care of him the most as he watched on at a distance. 

He became his mother’s son and became as cruel and sharp tongued as Cersei and held the similar disdain for Robert that his wife did. He had failed Joffrey in so many ways. But his biggest failure was letting Cersei sink her claws into him. 

Little Myrcella. His precious little girl. He had tried to be better for her. She was her mother in appearance, but her heart was so very tender and Robert could remember rocking her to sleep, of holding her to his chest as she grasped at his beard for comfort. His sweet little girl. He could still remember how proud she had been when she had made him a crown of daisies. He had worn it atop his head for the entire day and had glared at any of the lords who gave him a curious look. 

His sweet Myrcella was like Mya, all the goodness he knew was true in the world. How he wanted to protect her from all the darkness, all the pain. He wanted her to be happy. Robert just wanted her to be happy. 

Little Tommen. Robert did what he could to make the boy feel appreciated, loved, and proud. Cersei saw only his faults and it angered him that his wife saw none of the boy’s strengths. Tommen had the mind of a scholar and of someone who was wise and kind, someone who listened. He did well under Arthur’s tutelage and care. Tommen would most likely not be a knight who made a name for himself on the battlefield, but in the great hall of lords where he would find respect and admiration. 

He would be a better man than Robert ever was and he was happy for it. 

His mind went dark. 

—

“How are you faring, Robert?” Ned asked. 

He scoffed. “I can take out the young dragon, but a wild boar is what will be the end of me.”

“Don’t say that,” his oldest friend said. 

“It’s the truth. My mind feels so very distant. I find myself thinking far too deeply than I usually do.” Ned gave a soft chuckle. “You were the best of us Ned, and I know you will be good until things can be settled after I am gone.”

His friend’s face paled. “Robert…”

Jaime coughed from his place on Robert’s other side. “It is usually the dying that must make a confession,” the man attempted at the joke, but his tone fell flat. “However, I am the one who must make a confession. I have wronged you, Robert. I have been a bad brother and a worse friend. You need to know the truth. I—”

“Ned,” Robert interrupted. “There’s something in my desk that I need. It’s in the bottom left drawer, tied with a brown cord.”

“Robert,” Jaime said. “This is important.”

“As is this.” He looked to his friend. “Ned.” The Northman nodded solemnly and went to the desk and retrieved the item Robert called for and returned to his place next to the bed. “Could you read it?”

Ned I rolled the scroll and began to read. “By order of King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, the order of Mya Stone to be legitimized as Mya Baratheon is to be upheld by the seven kingdoms of Westeros. From the day of this issue, she is to be legally seen as her father and king’s only child—” Ned stopped and stared at Robert in horror. 

“Robert—” Jaime began. 

“I had some thoughts on it after the twins were born, that it was strange that children were born only nine months after your visits.”

“You could have hung me,” Jaime said. “You had every right—”

“I did not treat Cersei well in the beginnings of our marriage and I would not hold it against her for finding love where she sought it. I thought at first it must be some man from Casterly Rock, some man her father wouldn’t have approved of, but I knew the truth when Varys spoke it to me and I kept it quiet until I could see what type of man and king Joffrey would be.”

“Robert, I—”

“You killed the Mad King, Jaime. I won against Rhaegar, but you stopped the Mad King from killing every single person in this city. I thought perhaps the gods did not want the Targaryen way to die. Perhaps they were rewarding you for saving the realm. But Joffrey cannot be king.”

“No,” Jaime said. “He cannot.”

“Mya is to be my heir and she is to marry Arthur, that will get the Old Lion to agree to it. A true Lannister king on the Iron Throne with a Baratheon queen at his side.”

“You can’t think that Cersei will agree to this,” Ned said quietly.

“She’ll have to,” he said. “In these documents if stated that the children were fathered by a servant and Jaime will not be named. They will be protected then by the backlash of incest.” Robert took a shaky breath. “Joffrey will be betrothed to Arianne Martell, she’s a strong willed girl that won’t take any of his cheek and anger. She is a viper, that one, and a spine of steel. Myrcella is to foster in Casterly Rock, where she might marry a Westerland boy of her choosing. Tommen will squire under Arthur and gain a small keep in the Westerland coast, where he might find some freedom and happiness.”

“You’ve thought this through,” Ned said. 

“One of us had to.”

“Robert, why didn’t you tell me you knew?” Jaime asked. 

“It wasn’t for you, at first, but for Celia. She was good to me and a sister to me when I had none. She deserved more than you and a ruined marriage and children who would lose everything. But then it became for the children as well. Joffrey might be Cersei’s, but Myrcella and Tommen are mine.”

“And what of Cersei?” Nes asked. “What is to be her fate?”

“She is to go to the Silent Sisters, where she might repent of her actions, but also be safe from any public scrutiny.”

“Robert.”

“I am the king,” he said. “This is my final order. My reign was never meant to be so long and I am so very tired.”

“Promise me my will shall be carried out.”

His friends took him by the hand and they swore it. He prayed it would be enough. 

—

Joffrey did not cry during his goodbyes. He looked at him coldly and knew the boy thought Robert weak. 

“I do what I have for your sake, my boy,” Robert told him. “Perhaps, one day you will understand that sometimes we must lower ourselves to protect those we care for, when we care for them.”

The boy merely nodded before leaving the room. 

Myrcella was crying and kissed his cheek tenderly. “I will miss you, Father.”

“I will miss you too, my sweet girl.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “A crown was worthless in comparison to the ones you have made for me.” She smiled at him. “You are no lion or stag, but a sun that has brought me such happiness. May you find someone who brings you just as much into your life.”

Myrcella kissed his cheek again before being led from the room by Celia, who pressed a tender kiss to the top of his head. 

Tommen came next. The boy tried to appear strong, but his lips trembled and his body shook. “I do not want you to go, Father.”

Robert put his hand over Tommen’s heart. “I will be here, whenever you need me, my darling boy. You are my pride, Tommen. My pride. Whatever may be said in the future, you are my pride and all a Baratheon boy _ should _be. You have the heart of a true Baratheon, regardless.”

Tommen hugged him and Robert patted his son on the back, trying to keep back his own tears, so as to be brave for his little boy. Arthur led him out and all that remained was Mya. 

“I will not leave your side, Father,” she said softly. 

“Good,” he whispered. “I have never told anyone this, but I am so very frightened of being alone.”

Mya sat by his side and held his hand in hers. He closed his eyes and Mya began to sing. 

“_ Deep in the meadow, under the willow. / A bed of grass, a soft green pillow. / Lay down your head, and close your eyes. / And when they open, the sun will rise… _”

She sounded like his mother as Robert closed his eyes. It was as though his mother was calling for him. 

_ Robbie. Robbie. _

He felt so warm. 

_ Robbie. It’s okay _ , his mother whispered. _ You can rest now. _

Robert smiled and sighed, finally at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this okay? 
> 
> Do you think Robert’s plan will work?


	45. Celia XVII

He wasn’t supposed to have his arm around her, but the only one who made a point in glaring was Cersei. However, she was pregnant so no one else thought it was wrong of her to be so emotional and no one mined since she was being quiet. 

Jaime held her close as she buried her face in his shoulder, the tears refusing to stop. Most of her tears were ones of loss. She had loved Robert like a brother and she could hardly imagine that he was gone, even though she saw his body laid out before them in the sept. The children were crying and Celia felt so useless in her own sorrow. 

Then, there was a horrible part of her that felt relief. Relief that Robert had protected them. 

Jaime held her more closely, his hand rubbing against the swell of her belly, humming softly to her. 

—

Celia was folding her own clothes, getting to the point in her pregnancy where everything had to be just so. It did not help that she still felt emotional about Robert. 

They were to return to Casterly Rock and make plans with Tywin, who would be informed of the will Robert left. Celia was certain her good father would graciously accept the terms given, especially if Jaime told him the truth of what  _ could  _ be revealed if all does not go to plan. 

A knock came to her door and she expected it to be Avari. 

“Come in!” When the person came in and did not seem to move from their spot at the door, Celia turned and saw Littlefinger standing behind her. “Oh, Petyr!l she straightened and turned to him. “How are you? I feel as though I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I feel the same, my lady.” He glanced at her open trunk. “Am I disrupting your, my lady?”

“Celia,” she corrected. “And it’s fine, I was simply packing for the journey back to Casterly Rock.”

“You are not staying longer?”

Celia patted her belly. “I would feel more at ease to be at home. Surely you understand, Petyr.”

He smiled and Celia felt as though something were off. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course.”

—

Jaime came to her late in the afternoon. “We need to leave now.”

“What?” Celia looked to him. “Why?”

“Cersei has learned of Robert’s plans.” She stood, her hand going to her belly protectively. “We need to collect the children quickly and get them out as soon as possible. I’m going to Ned now so he can prepare.” Jaime kissed the top of her head and cupped her face in his hands. “You have to go with the children, Celia.”

“Jaime—”

“You have to.”

“Jaime, I’m in no condition to run. You know I’m not.”

“I can’t lose you like this! You think Cersei will—”

“If she doesn’t want to anger your father, she won’t.” Celia cradled his face in her hands as well. “I will make sure the children get out, but I cannot leave you.” She pulled his lips to hers and pressed a chaste kiss to them. “Go.”

As Jaime left, Celia ran for the children in the nursery, calling for Vylarr as she went. 

—

It was hard getting the children together. Joanna was crying, clinging to Celia’s skirts and Sansa was begging not to leave the baby or her father behind. Arya was pale and despondently. Eddie clung to Arthur in the confusion. Mya was trying to appear strong but she was still emotionally compromised, she held onto Joy, who was also crying. Avari’s son, Aemon, was holding onto his father with confusion. 

“I need you to take the children North,” Celia told her friend. 

“North?” Vylarr asked. “Why not Casterly?”

“Cersei will expect that. Claim to be heading towards the Stormlands if anyone asks.”

“What of you, Ce?” Avari asked. 

“I am a liability. We can’t know how long it will take to get us there, but a baby will not help us in the road.”

“Mother, I don’t want to go!” Joanna cried. 

“You have to, my little love.” Celia wiped the tears from her daughter’s face. 

“Surely they won’t hurt the girls,” Arthur said. 

Celia thought of Elia and Rhaenys. No, the Moutnain was dead and no one would do such a thing anymore. “We can’t… you have to go. Now.”

“I shall stay with you,” Avari said. “I can’t leave you alone.”

“Avari,” Vylarr gasped. 

“We can’t be too large a group. It will draw too much attention,” Avari reasoned. 

“No, Avari,” Celia whispered. “You have to go.” She looked at her family. “Vylarr, I need you to take Arthur, Eddie, Mya, and Joy. Avari, after ten minutes pass, I need you to take Sansa, Joanna, Aemon, and Arya away. Meet at the tree Arthur fell out of when he was twelve just outside of King’s Landing and then head North.”

“Mother—” Arthur began. 

“There’s no time.” She pressed kisses to her sons and adoptive daughter’s faces. “Go now. Vylarr, go.”

Vylarr kissed his wife quickly and pressed a kiss to his son’s head before taking the children and walking with purpose towards one of the secret exits designed for the royal family to escape if they needed to. 

Celia held her two daughters close. 

She should have sent them all together. She could not hold back a sob when the whitecloaks came to their door and informed them they were under house arrest, but not before Arya slipped from the room completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today because I’m going out to breakfast with my mom.
> 
> In other news, I will be starting three new Celiaverse fics this week. One on Monday and two on Tuesday. They will not be tagged as Jonsa. So you will have to check my tumblr to see when the first chapters are published. Hope you like them!


	46. Jon III

News of the king’s death and the arrest of Jon’s father and uncle reached Winterfell almost simultaneously. First, word came if the king’s death which, in turn, came with the normal request of the current Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell to come south to bend the knee. 

There had been a fair bit of mourning. The king had been an uncle to many of them in one way or another. Jon felt sorry for his cousins, knowing they all adored their Uncle Robert, rarely referring to him as a king unless they absolutely had to. The king had been a good one, keeping the land from debt and listening to his advisors while also strengthening the relationship with Dorne by giving them the Mountain. He was a good king and Jon had no doubt that the entire country mourned his loss. He was a good king and it would take a great man to fill his shoes and crown. 

Then, almost a day later, news of his father and Uncle Jaime’s arrests arrived at Winterfell which made them more confused that they could possibly understand. 

The letter stated that his father and Uncle Jaime had gone behind the late king’s back and attempted to usurp the throne from the king’s children, something Jon could hardly believe. His father and uncle loved the king like a brother, he doubted they would do anything that the king did not want. The only thing that made any sense to Jon was that, perhaps, they had tried to diminish the dowager queen’s power and the woman hadn’t taken too kindly to that. Jon had not liked the queen at all when he saw her and believed his cousin Arthur’s assessment of the woman, she cared for none but herself. 

“Is there any news of Aunt Celia and the children?” Jon asked his mother as she went over the letter again. 

“No,” she said. “There are no mentions of your aunt or cousins at all, merely words of your father and uncle’s arrest.”

“And a request to bend the knee,” Robb added in slight disgust. “Joffrey tells us that he has imprisoned our father, without giving us a proper explanation and now he expects us to come and bend the knee?”

Their mother was about to speak when she paused. “I wonder…”

“What is it, Mother?” Jon asked. 

“Your Aunt Lysa sent a letter to us when we were all in Riverrun. She claimed the Lannisters had been the ones to kill Jon Arryn with poison. Your Uncle Jaime dismissed such allegations, but now I wonder if my sister was only partially wrong. What if _ a _Lannister did poison Lord Arryn? Perhaps it was the queen.”

“If that’s true, do you think Aunt Celia and the children are safe?” Robb asked. 

“I’m not sure, but surely they would not harm those they could use as leverage.”

Jon thought of his cousins. Surely Arthur would protect them. He prayed to the old gods and the new that his aunt and her family would be safe. 

—

_ Dearest nephew, _

_ Or rather, one of my dearest for I love you and your brothers equally and love the king and his younger brother as well. _

_ I am writing to ask why you have yet to respond to the new king’s summons. The king has been very patient and very kind to all of us despite my husband and good brother’s rebellion against our true king. I am writing to tell you that anything you hear that defames the king in any way is false and a lie spread by those who wished to usurp him. _

_ I ask that you send a letter soon confirming your response to the king’s summons and giving us a time and day for when we might be able to expect and receive you. This would rectify your father’s mistake and perhaps grant a lighter sentence than the king might have in mind. _

_ I am doing well, as are the children. They have found to like the capital much more than they have in the past and we have decided to stay here instead of waiting out the pending trial at Casterly Rock. _

_ Please give the rest of the family my love and let them know we are well. _

_ Your aunt, _

_ Celia Lannister _

“She cannot be serious,” Robb said. “Her husband was arrested too and she expects us to bend the knee?”

“Her children were no doubt threatened,” Maester Luwin said. “I very much doubt Lady Celia would feel the need to write such a thing instead of having Lady Arya write the letter, which makes me believe that the king and his family do not know where she is.”

“Pray to all the gods you’re right,” Theon muttered. “But then perhaps the other children are gone as well?”

“Perhaps,” the maester said. “They could be threatening her unborn child, which would have any mother willing to say whatever they could to protect said babe.”

“I agree,” Jon’s mother said. “Celia was never fond of Cersei or the eldest prince. I have no doubt it was the queen that recited what would be written.”

“What rumors is she speaking of?” Jon asked. 

“Those… I have only heard rumors, my lord, but perhaps there is some truth to them,” Maester Luwin said carefully. 

“And those rumors would be?” Robb asked. 

“There are rumors stating that King Joffrey and his siblings were not aided by the king, but rather a servant of Casterly Rock.” The way he said it made it seem as though there was something else. 

“Or?” Robb urged. 

“There is a rumor that Ser Jaime is the sire of the king and his siblings.”

“That is utterly ridiculous,” Jon’s mother said quickly. “If it were true, why would Jaime he arrested as well, why would he be part of a plan to overthrow his supposed son, I doubt he would put himself at such a risk.”

“It is mere rumors, my lady,” the maester said. “However, the possibility that the king and his siblings were sired by someone other than the late king would give your husband and good brother a good reason to go against him.”

Robb scratched at the stubble of his chin. “I’ll think on what we are to do. You’re dismissed. maester.”

Maester Luwin bowed, letting Jon, his brother, and their mother to think. 

—

“Mother?” He entered his father’s old solar and found his mother writing furiously, scraps of paper scattered about and the fire roaring slightly louder than it would with simply wood. He could see some of the crumpled papers amongst the fire. “What are you writing?”

“I am writing to the Eyrie, Riverrun, and Casterly Rock.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “What for?”

“I am writing to your aunt and and uncle to see what they have heard and if they might be able to speak for your father’s behalf.”

“What if Uncle Jaime?”

“That is why I am writing to Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin is not out of politics yet. He has more of a hold on the queen than she might think. It would be better to have him speak to the king on his own son’s behalf. He will no doubt speak for your father as well. The last time a king wrongfully imprisoned a warden and a high ranking lord, it did not end well for him. Perhaps Lord Tywin might make him see sense.”

“Joffrey does not seem the type to see much sense,” Jon said carefully 

“He doesn’t,” his mother admitted. “But the very least we can do is hope.”

—

“Have you decided what you shall do, Robb?” Their mother asked. 

“His grace summons me to King’s Landing, I’ll go to King’s Landing, but not alone.” Robb folded the second letter that passive aggressively asked that they come to bend the knee. He handed the letter to Maester Luwin. “Call the banners.”

“All of them, my lord?” the maester asked. 

“They’ve all sworn to defend my father,” Jon said. “Have they not?”

“They have,” the maester replies. 

“Let’s see what their words are worth then,” Robb said and dismissed the Maester with a small nod. 

“I shall write to your aunt and uncle to let them know what our plan is,” their mother said. 

The boys nodded and watched her leave.

“Are you afraid?” Theon asked.

Robb glanced at his hand and Jon saw that it was shaking. “I must be.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?” Job asked. 

Theon smiled. “It means he’s not stupid.”

“That’s food then,” Jon said. “We can’t be stupid. It isn’t just our father that’s at risk. The girls and Arthur and Eddie are as well.”

He worried for Sansa and prays that her cheerfulness would get her through such troubled times. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are my other Celiaverse fics that started this past week if you haven’t read them already! All three have two chapters up!  
[Fault in Our Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544698/chapters/53871859)  
[We are the Shepherds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560553/chapters/53910346)  
[Beautiful Ghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22561159/chapters/53912128)


	47. Sansa III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, here are my other Celiaverse fics that started this past week if you haven’t read them already! All three have two chapters up!  
[Fault in Our Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544698/chapters/53871859)  
[We are the Shepherds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560553/chapters/53910346)  
[Beautiful Ghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22561159/chapters/53912128)

“Mother, what are we going to do?” Joanna asked quietly. 

Sansa held onto little Aemon, the boy crying for his father. Avari, who was considered a servant, was the only one allowed outside their rooms to get them food and such. However, it left little Aemon alone without either of his parents and Sansa held onto the boy who was like a third brother to her. 

“We are going to wait until we hear news from your cousins in the North and for your grandfather to come to the capital.”

“Will Grandfather take us back to Casterly Rock?” Sansa asked. 

Her mother looked tired, her eyes a little red from crying, although Sansa had yet to see her mother cry in front of them. “I am sure he will, sweetling. Your grandfather will want you close in these troubled times. Especially you Sansa, since you are the oldest and in line for Casterly Rock until your brothers are found.”

Sansa shuddered. She did not want her brothers to be found by Joffrey. He always hated Arthur and Eddie, although the feeling was nearly mutual. “Will Grandfather help free Father and Uncle Ned?”

“I am certain he will do his bed with what the situation calls for.”

“What does that mean, Mother?” Joanna asked. 

“Your cousin, Joffrey, has claimed they have committed treason. That’s a very serious thing, sweetling. Your grandfather will have a lot of things he has to do to help them, but your grandfather’s priority will be about you two.”

“Does that mean Father will die?” Sansa asked, tears forming in her eyes. 

“Oh, sweetling,” her mother stood, walking over with Joanna’s hand in her own. Her mother sat upon the couch and pulled all three children to her side. “Why do you ask that?”

“The Mad King killed Arya’s uncle and grandfather for treason and Uncle Ned and Father were said to commit treason. Will they die too?”

Her mother stroked Sansa’s hair tenderly. “Your grandfather will do what he can to make everything right,” she said. “I’m sure of it. I have written to your cousin, Robb and am certain he will do the best he can as well.” She kissed the children on their brows. “Everything will be alright, my darlings. We just need to pray.”

—

Sansa was brought before the queen and Joffrey in the queen’s private solar. The only other person present was Uncle Tyrion, whose face was dark and without feeling. 

“Ah, Sansa,” Joffrey said almost kindly. He stood from his place in his mother’s seat and went to her. He took Sansa’s hand in his and pressed his wormy lips to her knuckles and kissed them. “I am so sorry that you have been kept in that stifling room for so long, you must understand that it is for your protection. Some may wish to harm you and the others due to your father and uncle’s misdeeds. I am doing it only to protect you.”

Sansa curtsied. “Your grace is too kind in thinking of us when my father has been deemed a traitor.”

“Such pretty words, little dove,” the queen said. “Tell us, Sansa, where do your loyalties lie?”

“To the crown, your grace. Joffrey is my cousin and king. Is it not our duty a ladies of court to do as our king bid?”

“Well spoken,” Uncle Tyrion said. “Celia has taught her well.”

Sansa could see her aunts lips twitch slightly in disapproval to the comparison. “Did you need something of me, my king,” Sansa asked, turning her attention to Joffrey. 

“We need to know what your Mother had been planning,” the queen said. 

“I don’t understand, your grace,” Sansa said. 

What was your mother planning?”

“I don’t know what you mean? Mother was to have us return to Casterly Rock because she prefers to give birth there. Vylarr was to take the others there first to speak with Grandfather about making preparations. Mother has been feeling unwell recently.” Sansa focused on Joffrey. “Might we have some lemon cakes sent in? Mother has been craving them recently and the kitchens have refused when Avari has asked. My mother can’t seem to hold down much other foods.”

“Of course, my lady,” Joffrey said with his wormy smile. “I shall see that a plate of lemon cakes are sent every day for your midday meal.”

“You grace’s kindness knows no bounds.”

“Sansa,” the queen said. 

She turned to her aunt and curtsied. “Yes, your grace.”

“You have always been my favorite niece. Your sister is sweet, but she is so very weak that she is more your mother than a true lion.” Uncle Tyrion winced ever so slightly. Sansa knew her father blamed her uncle for Joanna’s health. Even Grandfather did. “I have heard that your parents arranged a match between you and Jon Stark, is that true?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“We can’t have a lovely girl like you betrothed time the son of a traitor. As queen, I have decided that betrothal shall be ended and you shall now be betrothed to Joffrey. How does that sound to you, little dove?”

Sansa tried to keep her features calm when in truth she felt panicked. “It would be an honor to marry the king,” she said carefully. 

“Good. Then your betrothal to the Stark boy is ended.”

Sansa swallowed. “Might I write to him then?” she asked. “It is proper that I inform him myself. It is what a proper lady should do. I do not want him to think I have been forced to do so when I have decided to do so willingly.” She prayed to all the gods that they would allow her to. 

“My lady is too kind,” the king said. “But I shall allow it.”

—

_ Dear Jon, _

_ I am writing to tell you that our engagement is to be broken. The king and dowager queen have decided that our match should not continue. I am sorry for getting your hopes up and wish that I were able to tell you this in person for it is more proper that way.  _

_ You shall find that this letter is much different from my other ones to you, but that is because we are no longer engaged and I am loyal to my one true love, Joffrey. I believe they shall wait until I am a little older before we are married, as we would have to have done, but I shall serve by his side as my younger sister and Mother help prepare for the future wedding. Mya and Arya have always been such a great help in my sewing that I am sure my maiden’s cloak will be beautiful. Joy will be of little help though and I doubt I shall see her much. I hope that my father is allowed a day of freedom for when I marry so that he might walk me to the sept since Arthur and Eddie cannot do it.  _

_ I know you have already received a letter from my mother, but I wish to tell you that my father and yours loved Uncle Robert and would never go against him without evidence. I believe the king’s uncles are behind the plot at hand. Lord Stannis and Lord Renly never cared for their brother’s advice. Mya told me how dismissive they have always been of her and I doubt they wish to let Uncle Robert’s heir take the throne, much less one backed by the Lannisters in matrimony.  _

_ I ask that you give Aunt Cat and the others my love. I pray that Robb makes the right choice and does the right thing as Uncle Ned and Uncle Robert have always done in these situations. _

_ Also, on a less serious matter, I have always wondered this about your direwolves, do they travel in a pack across Westeros when you travel or do they go their separate ways? Do they know to head North when they need to find food and shelter or do they go anywhere they wish? I know Lyanna’s wolf prefers to stay nearby, but what of the others? _

_ I pray that this letter finds you well. I encourage Robb to bend the knee. The Starks bent the knee to the Targaryens for the sake of their people and they had dragons. Surely they shall do the same for the new king, who does not.  _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Sansa _

_ P.S. I am sorry again about the broken engagement, but I believe your freedom is worth it, I suppose.  _

Sansa looked over her letter once more, hoping that Jon would understand all the clues she had given him on the situation at hand and her permission and encouragement for the North to seek independence. 

—

Sansa curled into her mother’s side. Joanna and Aemon were between Avari and Sansa’s mother. A part of her wanted to be in the middle too, but she also wanted to be next to her mother and it wouldn’t be fair to force Joanna in the very middle since she got sick often and Sansa was the big sister and the oldest now since Arthur and Mya had gone. It was her duty to be the responsible one. It was up to her to keep everyone safe since Aunt Cersei seemed to like her and Joffrey seemed intent on marrying her. Sansa wondered if she would become queen one day. She didn’t want to. She wanted to go home to Casterly Rock or to go back to Riverrun. 

A part of her wanted to go North as well. 

Although she had held her tears back when she wrote to Jon, she had cried afterwards. Jon was everything Joffrey was not and Sansa could imagine herself being happy with her Stark cousin. She could see him happy to sit with her in a grand library in silence as both read books, she on distant lands and he in great battles across Westeros. She could imagine having dark haired children who looked like Starks with the occasional red hair and blue eyes. She could imagine Ghost with brushed fur and a blue and grey ribbon around his neck. He was such a sweet wolf, licking at her face. She missed him too. 

Sansa also missed her father. 

She had asked the queen and Joffrey if she might see him, but both had refused. She had nearly cried then as well. If she could just see her father, she was certain everything would be alright. Her father always made things better and he always defeated the monsters. It was how he had lost his hand. He had defeated the Mad Kraken and, before that, he had defeated the Mad King. Her father always protected them. Her father was brave and he would keep them safe. Surely he would be able to keep them safe. 

She had heard some of the servants whispering that her father and Uncle Ned would take the Black. Sansa didn’t want her father to take the Black. That would mean he couldn’t be her father anymore and wouldn’t be able to protect them. Would her mother then be forced to marry someone else? Would Grandfather take up the duties of her father then?

Would her grandfather come soon? Surely he would be able to fix everything. He always made things better. Joffrey always behaved better when their grandfather was present. 

She prayed to the gods both old and new that everything would turn out okay. She prayed that she would not have to marry Joffrey. She prayed that Grandfather would come quickly. She prayed that she would see Jon again soon. She prayed that the others were safe. She prayed that Arya found them. She prayed that her mother and the baby would be alright. She kept praying until she finally fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had honestly not planned for both chapters to have letters that are trying to send an underlying message to the recipient, but it sort of just happened.  
Sansa is playing the game, remember, Tywin took her under his wings.  
We shall see what happens next!


	48. Arya II

Arya did as best as she could to be invisible, to allow herself to pass by unseen. She wasn’t as noticeable as her cousins, with their blonde and red hair. Hers was dark like so many others and Arya knew that most of the staff in the Red Keep did not know her as well as they knew the Lannisters. She tried desperately to find which gate Vylarr must have taken the others but she didn’t know the way and she didn’t know if she would even be allowed out of the gates. Did she need a pass? It had been easy to come in when she had been with her family, but would she be able to leave alone?

“Arya!” 

She turned about herself, trying to find where the voice came from.

“Arya!” 

She turned and saw her, Joy. Her cousin’s cousin ran to her and threw her arms around Arya’s neck. 

“How did you get out?” Joy asked, pulling away, grinning wider than Arya had ever seen her. “Did the others get out?”

Arya shook her head. “I managed to slip out, but the others didn’t. The kingsguard got them.”

Joy’s smile dimmed instantly. “Oh.”

“Where’s Vylarr and Arthur and Mya and Eddie?”

Joy shook her head. “I got separated and I couldn’t find my way out of the city. It’s too big. I’ve never seen it from the ground, I’ve always been on a horse. What should we do?”

Arya frowned. Even though she and Joy were the same age, Arya and Joy couldn’t be any more different than she and Sansa were. Joy was tall and willowy while Arya was shorter with a boyish face, but also had some small curves coming in that she got from her mother’s. Arya was also the more adventurous of the two. If she just thought of this as an adventure, there had to be a way to get through it. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Arya said. “I promise.”

—

First, they had to find new clothes for Joy. Arya was lucky enough to be wearing trousers and a loose tunic that made her look boyish than usual. Arya was actually impressed that nothing had happened to Joy yet in her pretty dress. 

It was difficult finding something for Joy to wear that would be less conspicuous. And luckily she was as thin as a stick and they wouldn’t have a hard time trying to find something that fit, maybe just something that was long enough to cover her legs. Eventually Arya was able to find some trousers and a tunic that was meant for a grown man, but it would have to do. 

They hid behind an alleyway as Joy changed quickly, slipping out of her dress and shift until she was wearing the trousers and tucked the shirt into them until she looked like a bloody pirate. 

“You look like Theon,” Arya said, not sure if it was an insult or a compliment. 

Joy glared at her. “It’s what we can do, but what else? We still look like girls.”

It was true. Joy’s long blonde hair was the same color as the queen’s and anyone would recognize the hair immediately if they were looking for her. While Arya’s hair was a less distinct color, it was still long and in a Northern style that people would recognize if they knew anything about the different kingdoms and their styles. 

“We’re going to have to cut our hair,” Arya said at last. 

“What!” Joy shouted. “No! We can’t do that! A woman’s life is her hair!”

Arya rolled her eyes. “It’s a good thing we’re just girls then,” she said. “Come on. It will grow back. Here, you can cut mine first.”

“What are we going to even use?”

“Needle.”

“What needle?”

Arya indicated the thin sword on her hip. “Needle.”

“You want me to use a sword?!”

“No, I want you to use an actual needle. Yes I want you to use my bloody sword!”

Joy sniffed and they glared at each other for a good long while until Joy sighed. “Fine. Sit down. I don’t want to cut your ear off.”

Joy sat behind her after taking Needle from Arya. The second she heard the singing of the sword slicing through her hair, Arya was surprised to find tears forming in her eyes and sliding down her cheeks. 

A memory of her mother brushing her hair and saying she loved her daughter’s dark hair because it looked like her father’s. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Joy said. “This is so they can’t find us. “It’s going to be okay.”

After Joy was done, Arya room Needle and sat behind Joy. Arya wiped the tears from her own eyes and began to cut Joy’s hair until it was short like a boy’s. When they were done, the girls left the alleyway quickly, leaving behind their chinned hair and Joy’s dress. 

—

The girls found a place to sleep behind a bakery. The stone wall they curled against was probably next to the fire stove as it was warm against their skin. 

“We should have kept the dress,” Joy whispered. “We could have used it as a blanket.”

Arya nodded. She glanced at joy. “How did you get separated from the others?”

“We went through the servants entrance and went into the city. Vylarr knows it well enough, but I… I was holding onto Mya’s hand as Arthur was holding Eddie. We got separated by the crowd. It was like I was going to get crushed. A boy pulled me out but I had to find Vylarr and the others so I tried to get back in but I couldn’t. I tried to head towards the gate Aunt Celia was referring to, but I couldn’t find it.” Her lip trembled. “I just kept wandering around hoping to find Avari and you all when You escaped but I couldn’t find you either. Then I heard that Uncle Jaime and Lord Stark were being arrested and then I saw you and I thought maybe the others had gotten out.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Arya huffed. 

“You didn’t disappoint me,” Joy said quietly. “I’m glad you got out. I’m glad I’m not alone.”

Arya nodded. “Where should we go when we get out of here?”

“Casterly Rock is closer. Lord Tywin will help us.”

“But Aunt Celia said to go North.”

“But that was when we had adults going with us instead of going by ourselves.”

Arya took Joy’s hand in hers. “We’ll figure it out soon. I promise.”

Joy nodded. “Let’s get some sleep.”

The girls snuggled closer together, trying to find as much comfort as they could in the heat of Flea Bottom. 

—

Arya woke up in the middle of the night, worrying about her father and uncle. Worrying about her aunt and her cousins. 

Surely they would be alright. Surely they would be alright. 


	49. Arthur II

“Joy!” Arthur shouted, trying to catch a glimpse of his cousin’s blonde hair. “Joy!”

“We need to move,” Vylarr said, pulling him along. Mya’s eyes were red and her gaze looked distant as though she were the one who was lost. 

“What about Joy?” Eddie asked, holding onto Arthur’s neck. 

“I’m sure Avari will find her when they leave after us,” he said. “We need to meet the others by the tree and leave this place as quickly as possible.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he said. “We can’t wait and we can’t trust the queen and the new king if they find us. We’re almost to the tree. The others should be able to catch up with us in an hour or so.”

They managed to slip through the opened gate quite easily. It didn’t take long then for them to reach the tree Arthur’s mother told them to meet the others at.

He remembered the tree well. Even though he had changed over the years, the tree didn’t seem to, even though Arthur knew it must have grown a little. He had fallen out of the tree when he was twelve. He hadn’t fallen from far and it had felt as though all the air had been knocked from his lungs. His chest had burned from the sensation, but nothing bad had happened other than that. 

But hearing his siblings tell it, he almost died from the experience. Eddie had sobbed to the Stranger to not take Arthur, again nowhere near death. Joanna had started to place flowers in his hands and over his eyes and he tried not to think of how morbid his youngest sister could be. Sansa had been the only calm one. Aemon and Mya probably would have been fine as well. Joy had been the only intelligent one to get their parents. 

His father had come and the first thing he did was bend over laughing at the presentation Joanna had done. Arthur’s mother had slapped his arm and bent down to check on Arthur to make sure he was alright. 

It was a fond memory, one he focused on as they waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

They waited an hour and no one came. 

“What if they didn’t get out,” Mya whispered. 

Arthur glanced at Vylarr, who had turned ashen. He closed his eyes and Arthur had no doubt he was thinking about Avari and Aemon, worries that they had been trapped as well. 

Vylarr took a steadying breath. “We need to head North to the rest of the Starks.”

“But—”

“We won’t be of help to anyone if we’re captured. We need to head North.” He sighed. “Follow me.”

They could do nothing but follow, hoping and praying that they others would be safe, wherever they were. 

—

They stopped to sleep for the night with Vylarr keeping watch for half of the night and Arthur for the second half. Vylarr took off his red cloak and covered the three children with it, as though it were a blanket. Eddie curled into Arthur’s side while Mya turned her back to him and curled herself into a ball as well. Arthur laid on his back trying to get some sleep as much as he was able to on the uncomfortable ground. 

However, his thoughts naturally went to his parents, his sisters, his uncle, and his cousins. 

His thoughts went to Joy first. He had heard her crying out for him and Mya as soon as they got separated, but the crowd was flooding and there was no way to reach her. Arthur didn’t even have any room to pull his sword from its sheath. He wondered if Joy had just returned to the keep or… he closed his eyes. He knows people can be trampled to death. He shook his head. No, surely not. Joy was alive and well and with Arthur’s mother and sisters and Arya. She was fine. 

His mind then went to his sisters. Joanna might be alright. Aunt Cersei took little interest in her since she was sick. Arthur had no doubt the queen would allow his youngest sister to stay with their mother and not bother her. It was Sansa he worried for the most. 

She would no doubt be put alone with the little shit Joffrey. Arthur opened his eyes and chewed on his bottom lip in thought. Would they try to engage Sansa to Joffrey, ignoring her engagement to Jon? Probably, even if it would be smarter to keep their ties to the Stark family closer than they were now. Aunt Cersei never was good at thinking politically in the long run. 

Arya would be in trouble as well. She didn’t know how to sit still or be quiet when it was necessary. He hoped someone would look after her and make sure she keeps a level head. Perhaps if she had someone she felt she needed to protect she would do better. 

He thought of his mother and his unborn sibling. Surely she would be alright. Grandfather would tear the world apart for less. Yes, his mother and the baby had to be safe. 

Uncle Ned was a good and honorable man, so no doubt he would be safe as well. 

Arthur’s thoughts then went to his father. His father and the queen, while twins, weren’t close from what Arthur could remember. But, surely, his father would be alright. Grandfather wouldn’t tolerate his heir being imprisoned or tried for a crime he didn’t commit. 

They would be okay. Arthur had to believe that. 

They would all be okay. 

—

“We should go to Casterly Rock,” Arthur repeated. “It’s closer and we’ll get help more quickly.”

“Your mother said to go North and I agree with her. We will aim for the Riverlands first and then head North to meet with the Starks.”

“You expect us to walk all the way North with Eddie?” Mya asked. “You’re an adult and Arthur and I are nearly grown. I doubt we can walk there and it will take forever.”

“We will get some horses soon,” was all Vylarr said. 

Arthur didn’t doubt that Vylarr was exhausted and missed his family as much as they did. But Vylarr hadn’t been a teenager or a child in a long time. He couldn’t possibly understand how exhausting it is. It didn’t help that Arthur was still growing and his joints were aching. 

Arthur’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. 

_ It just means you’re going to be a man soon _ , his father had laughed, patting him on the back. 

“I want Mother,” Eddie sniffed. “I want Sansa.”

They had to pause as Eddie let out a loud cry as tears began to flood his vision. Arthur missed their mother too, but he was better at hiding it. It

Didn’t help that this was the longest Eddie had been without their mother. 

“Get on my back,” Arthur said, kneeling down with his back to his brother. “I’ll carry you for a bit, alright.”

Eddie must have nodded as he climbed onto Arthur’s back. The young knight stood and they began to walk again. 

“Everything is going to be okay,” Arthur said. “We’ll see Mother and Father soon and we’ll be back to Casterly Rock very, very soon. Don’t worry.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Everything is going to be okay.” He took a shaky breath. “I promise.”

—

Arthur was keeping watch that night when he heard Mya sniffing. Worried that she might have caught a cold, he reached over to touch her brow when he realized she was trembling. 

“Mya?”

“Just ignore me,” she whispered. “I’m being stupid.”

“You’re not being stupid, Mya,” he said softly. “You’ve got plenty of reasons to cry. Probably more so than the rest of us.” He couldn’t imagine losing his father like Mya lost hers. 

“Do you think my father died naturally?” she asked. 

Arthur looked at her in confusion. “He died from his wounds that he got from a boar.”

“But what if it wasn’t an accident? What if the queen planned it like she planned to imprison your parents and Lord Stark.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say to that. 

“What if I could have more time with my father, but now I never will?” She was crying now. “I didn’t tell him I loved him enough. I should have told him a hundred times more. I should have written to him more. He should have been the one to walk me down the sept if I ever got married. We should have had more time.”

Arthur’s heart broke for her. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “He knows you loved him Mya. He knew and he’ll always be with you. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today because I got to talk to my brother (who lives in London) and we got sidetracked and busy venting over something he watched recently.
> 
> Also, there’s an app called Fanfic Pocket Archive Library that has been stealing Ao3 fics. They’ve stolen all of mine, go make sure yours haven’t been stolen as well. I’ve already reached out to Apple.


	50. Ned III

“Why?” Ned asked. Jaime has been silent since their arrest. He had not spoken a word and had not fought. “Why aren’t you fighting?”

“Cersei tried to poison Celia once,” Jaime said softly. “She hates her more than Robert once hated the Targaryens. She won’t hurt the children because our father will not forgive her, but Celia isn’t safe, neither is the babe in her belly.”

“Then why were you making yourself put to be the villain?”

Jaime looked at him, his green eyes dull. “I let you think I killed the Mad King selfishly for years, is it really so out of character for me to play the villain. If I did that, the children would be safe, while their reputations would be tarnished, I have no doubt that you would protect them, you and Robert both. Celia would have hated me, but at least our children and she would be seen as victims rather than perpetrators.”

Ned frowned. “You love her, don’t you?”

“I love her more than anything in the world besides our children. I’m not a good man,” he said. “I know I don’t deserve her. But I wouldn’t even trade this cell if it meant I would have been forced to live my life away from her. I would do it all over again. I would make different decisions and probably make different mistakes, but I wouldn’t trade my life with her for anything.” Jaime looked at him. “If you could have Brandon back, would you trade him being alive if it meant you would have to give up your life with Cat?”

Ned opened his mouth to answer, but closed it, finding he could answer, but unsure if he could say it aloud. He wanted his brother back. There wasn’t a day that went by where he didn’t miss his brother, but he wouldn’t trade his life with Cat for anything either. 

—

They threw Jaime back in his cell and Ned was rather surprised to see him roughed up. 

“What happened?”

“Arya escapes,” Jaime said instead. “As did Joy, Mya, Arthur, and Eddie. Vylarr has them.”

“Do you know where they’re heading?”

Jaime shook his head. “I have my suspicions, but the walls have eyes and ears everywhere. I might be wrong, but even then I won’t say anything.”

Ned nodded. “Why do you look roughed up?”

“I denied Cersei,” he said. “I told her people may believe the rumors of her children her and having me around will not help, especially considering where she is keeping my wife and daughters.” He closed his eyes. “Needless to say, she wasn’t pleased.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Ned said gently. 

Jaime looked up to him. “Your daughter is safe,” he said. “You need to understand something, Ned. She has my wife and daughters as hostages. Joanna is chronically ill. I have to put them first. I  _ have _ to. Tell me you understand and you won’t judge whatever my sister makes me do.”

Ned nodded. “I understand.” He truly did.

—

They were both awoken in the middle of the night by guards entering their cell and dragging Jaime out. The Lannister heir struggled against his captors, demanding to know where he was being taken. Ned stood as well, but was pushed aside, his head cracking against the wall and everything went black. 

—

Ned awoke to his head being tended to. “What happened?”

“You were knocked against a wall and blacked out, my lord. You’ve been out for a few days. More because of the medicine given to you than anything. It’s better to have an unconscious patient. 

He shifted his gaze and found Lord Varys sitting near him. “Where’s Jaime?”

“Ser Jaime has been sent to lead an attack against the Stark and Tully forces. He disagreed at first, but the king made it rather clear that Lady Celia and her children, the lady especially, were considered traitors and would not be treated kindly if a trade of experience was not used.”

Ned thought of Celia smiling up at him when she confirmed her latest pregnancy. Her situation was too delicate for a place like the Black Cells. Jaime has asked that Ned understand if he had to put his wife and captured children first. Ned did. He would have done the same. 


	51. Robb I

“I will not do it,” Jon hissed. 

“Jon, you are you are the second heir of House Stark and your Uncle Edmure’s heir as well,” their mother said. “You must marry just as Robb should. It is the only way to secure the Freys.”

“Surely there is some other way!” Jon shouted. “I am betrothed to Sansa. I shall not break my engagement to her. I won’t go back on my word in a time where she needs me.”

“She has already broken it,” Robb reasoned. He knew that his brother had been quite pleased with his betrothal to their cousin. She was a sweet girl and Robb knew his brother had always fancied her. Sansa would have made Jon a good wife and he a good husband. 

“The queen forced her, just as she forced Aunt Celia to write that letter. I don’t recognize the ending of the betrothal. She’ll be forced to marry Joffrey. You want that little shit to marry our cousin? He’s the one who imprisoned our father and uncle and has our aunt and sister and cousins as hostages.”

“They won’t hurt their hostages, Jon,” their mother cautioned. “They have learned their mistake with the Martells.”

It was in those moments that Robb remembered his father saying that Jon had the temperament of their Uncle Brandon at times. True, he could be as quiet and reserved as their father, but he could be brash when he wanted to be. 

“Jon, your betrothal is broken and if we want her and the others to be free, we have to agree to the betrothal to the Freys,” Robb said. “I’m sorry, but that’s how it had to be.”

Jon stormed from the tent and their mother sighed and sat down, burying her face in her hands. 

“He’ll come around, Mother,” Robb said. “I’m sure of it.”

“I know,” she said softly. “He’s just worried. He becomes like his uncle when he’s worried.” She took a shaky breath. “He’s acting too much like his father and uncle for his own good. He thinks too often of what is right and just and does not wish to think of how unjust the world can be.”

Robb knelt at his mother’s feet and took her hand. “Everything will be okay, Mother. We’ll get them all back. I promise.”

—

Robb could remember his Uncle Jaime helping him with his sword work for the first time. It was hard to believe at times how renowned his uncle had once been. Whenever Robb thought of his uncle, he thought of the man with a golden hand in public and a missing one in private. He thought of the man that wore daisy chain necklaces around to official meetings with the Blackfish and Grandfather Tully. He remembers the man who would speak in baby talk when addressing the smaller children and then speak very seriously to them when they answered back. He had been a good man and a good uncle. 

But when Robb first truly saw his uncle handle a sword one handedly, Robb could see what the other people of Westeros: a great swordsman. His uncle was precise and cautious, instilling the idea that a sword was a mere extension of the arm, not just the wrist. It rang true to the old way, that a man who passed the sentence must swing the sword. His uncle agreed. 

As a boy, Robb saw his uncle as undefeatable, being everything a noble knight should be. While Robb’s father had defeated Ser Arthur Dayne, Robb’s father was simply his father with very little fanfare attached to his name. 

His uncle was different. His uncle was a man larger than life itself. A man who was always on the side of good. 

So, when he heard rumors of his uncle being seen amongst the Lannister ranks, Robb didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to believe that such a great man would fight for the wrong side. He just couldn’t believe it, couldn’t fathom it. 

Unless…

_ I heard that the Kingslayer fucked the queen and he’s the new king’s true father.  _

Whispers had begun to circulate around the camp and Robb didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to. 

Yet, he might have to. 

—

Robb leapt off his horse as soon as his uncle was thrown to the ground at his mother’s feet. Jon followed behind him. Robb went to his mother’s side. “By the time they knew what was happening, it had already happened.”

His uncle looked up at the three Starks that stood before them and the man had never looked so filthy or weary. “Cat,” he said. “I’d offer you my sword, but I seem to have lost it.”

“It is not your sword I want,” Robb’s mother hissed. “Give me my daughter back. Give me my husband. My sister and nieces and nephews.”

“My daughter is smart,” he turned his gaze to Jon. “I have no doubt Sansa figured a way to send you a letter, boy. If you haven’t deciphered it, you’re too lost to figure it out then.” He looked up to the Stark matriarch. “Arya escaped King’s Landing during the arrest. She and Arthur, Eddie, Joy, and Mya made it out. I know not where they are. I had hoped they might get here before I did, but they might be taking the back roads.”

Jon stiffened next to Robb and he saw his brother pull out a letter from under his leather armor. Jon’s breath caught in his throat. “He speaks the truth. Sansa’s letter says that Mya and Arya are helping with her maiden’s cloak while Joy is of no help at all.”

Robb turned to his uncle again. “Then tell me, Kingslayer,” he spat out the title. “Why do you fight for the Lannisters?”

“You forget what house I am from, Robb,” he said simply. “These aren’t all Lannister men. Some are sellswords bought with the crown’s coin. My father has no part of this and is nearing King’s Landing as we speak to talk reason with Joffrey.” He sighed. “My wife and daughters are still in King’s Landing. I do what I must to appease my sister for their sake. Your father understands.”

“Do not speak to me of my father,” Robb growled. It was betrayal that burned him. This man he had looked up to his whole life no longer fit the image he had created in his boyhood. 

“What do you want us to do Robb?” Theon asked. 

“Set him in chains and keep him guarded as a hostage and send word to the Red Keep,” Robb ordered. “There will be plenty of men who wish him dead.” Robb watched as his uncle was dragged away. “I sent two thousand men to their graves today,” he said softly. 

“The bards will sing songs of their sacrifice,” Theon tried to assure him.

“Aye,” Robb agreed. “But the season won’t hear them.” He turned to the remaining bannermen. “One victory does not make us conquerors. Did we free my father? Did we rescue my sister and aunt and cousins from the queen? Did we free the North from those who want us on our knees? This war is far from over.”

—

Robb stood over his uncle who sat in chains. “Why?”

“I’ve done a lot of things, Robb,” he said. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You could have fought against the crown. You could have led your forces against Joffrey. Why didn’t you?”

“I was imprisoned just as much as your father was. I might have had a little more freedom to see my wife and daughters, but only when the children were sleeping.” He shook his head. “My pregnant wife and our blood daughters are the only people I can protect right now. The boys, Mya, Joy, and your sister are out in Westeros. If I were you, I’d send the people you can to find them so they won’t be alone, send someone you trust.”

“I once thought you were the greatest man in Westeros.”

His uncle gave a harsh laugh. “I’m not so great as you think I am, though I am honored that you thought so. I am merely repenting if my crimes and doing what I can to protect my family as I know how. Your ambush was clever, you almost gave yourself away with your mother on the ridge. I’m glad I was the only one to see her. Your father taught you well.”

Where once his uncle’s praise would have made him swell with pride, now it sent a chill down his spine. His uncle had let him win. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of Robb’s POV and his thoughts on Jaime?


	52. Celia XVIII

Celia stroked Sansa’s hair from her face and tucked Joanna in just a little more tightly and pulled the cover over Aemon once more after the boy kicked it off again. 

They were all so young, so innocent. Sansa has yet to come into her true womanhood, any talks of marriage being put off until Lord Tywin came to King’s Landing. Surely she could save her daughter from such an unwanted marriage. 

Celia stood and took her seat next to Avari who was knitting furiously the slight clack of her needles somehow calming, reminding Celia of her mother just a bit, the vague memory of the Tully woman sitting by the fire as she chased the nightmares away with her mere presence. “I am to stand before the king tomorrow,” Celia said softly. “Present my case before him.”

“Is he truly Ser—” her question ceased when Celia nodded. “That lying—”

“Do not be angry with him,” Celia said softly. “I have already been angry and I have already given him my forgiveness. He does not love her and his priority is our children.”

Avari’s gaze darkened, but she nodded nonetheless. “There has been no word of the other children or Vylarr?”

Celia shook her head. “If there were, Cersei would surely throw it in my face.”

“My husband is a good man and will protect the children with his life.”

“I pray he doesn’t need to,” Celia said.

Avari nodded. “Have you heard any news from the rebellion?”

“Lord Varys has told me that Jaime has been captured.”

“Is that good then?”

“I don’t know,” Celia admitted. “Cat has always been rather protective and the slight against my honor and the reputation of my children is great. She may speak to him cruelly, but I don’t think she will treat him so. He’s too good a hostage.” She frowned. “I just fear it might make things worse. Cersei has never been willing to let Jaime go and I can’t imagine what she might threaten if he is not released.” Tears began to form in her eyes and she let them fall. She tried not to cry in front of her children, but they were asleep now and she could cry freely. 

Avari stopped her knitting and took Celia’s hand in her own. “Once Lord Tywin gets here, all will be right again.”

Celia nodded. “I can only hope.” She squeezed her best friend’s hand tightly. “We can only hope.”

—

Celia watched as Ser Barristan stormed from the throne room. She had few feelings for the older knight. She remembered him vaguely from her first time in King’s Landing and could only recall that he made Ashara uncomfortable. She looked away, and took a breath. She needed to focus. Her words might be able to sway Joffrey onto a better path. At the very least she and Avari and the children might be able to go back to Casterly Rock and give her sister and her sister’s sons less to worry about. 

The royal steward stepped forward. “If any man in this hall has other matters to set before His Grace, let him speak now or go forth and hold his silence.”

Celia caught the queen’s eye and Cersei looked at her coldly. She had no real power anymore. It was obvious she couldn’t control Joffrey. Celia would simply have to appeal to  _ him.  _ She stepped forward. “Your grace?”

He looked at her carefully and motioned towards her. “Come forward, aunt.”

Celia did as she was told. 

“The Lady Celia is House Lannister,” the steward announced and the room grew quiet. She was the aunt of the king, good daughter of the Old Lion, good sister of the Warden of the North, and daughter of Hoster Tully. She would not be frightened. 

“Do you have some business for the king and council, Celia?” Cersei asked, barely masking her contempt. 

“I do,” she said, looking to Joffrey. “Forgive me,your grace, for not kneeling or curtsying.” She looked to the crown and placed a hand on her belly. “I fear I shall either fall or sit and never stand again if I do.” This got some of the court to laugh. “I shall not ask for a chair either,” she said. “For the only chair that is moveable is the  _ Dowager _ queen’s chair, the other chair is quite heavy and I would never unseat you, nephew.”

Joffrey smirked ever so slightly. He enjoyed wit. His Uncle Tyrion always regaling him with fanciful stories and riddles. “Please,” the king said. “Present your case.”

Celia nodded. “As it pleases, your grace, I ask mercy for my sister’s husband, Lord Eddard Stark, who was Hand if the King to your father.”

“Treason is a noxious weed,” Maester Pycelle said through pursed lips. L&( should be torn out, root—”

“Let my aunt speak,” Joffrey said, irritated. “I want to hear what she says. He returned his gaze to her. “Please continue.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Celia dipped her head. 

“Do you deny your good brother’s crimes?” Petyr asked. “Do you deny your husbands?”

Celia could no longer trust Petyr. It could not be a coincidence that she told him that she was leaving and then suddenly Ned and Jaime were thrown into the black cells. 

“My husband has fought for his family and done much for those who call King’s Landing their home.”

“Then what was he doing helping Lord Stark take the throne from the king?” Petyr continued. 

Celia turned her gaze to Joffrey. “I believe there has been a miscommunication, your grace.”

Joffrey narrowed his eyes. “Miscommunication?”

“As all know, my husband and Lord Stark were great friends to King Robert. They were like brothers and cared for one another deeply upon Robert’s deathbed, they learned that rumors of your illegitimacy had begun to spread amongst certain circles. My husband and Lord Stark sought to see if these rumors were true as well as the possibility that Lord Jon Arryn was murdered for trying to put a stop to these rumors.”

White lies upon white lies, but she hoped that they might do the trick. 

“Yet, Lord Stark planned to say I wasn’t the king,” Joffrey said. “Why would he do that?”

“I believe it was to lure out the true culprit of such malicious rumors. It was similar to what my husband did in order to rid the keep of the Mad King’s pyromancers. My husband would handle it from the shadows, while Lord Stark handled it in the light. But something seems to have gone wrong for both my husband and Lord Stark were thrown in jail and my children and myself put under arrest as we were leaving for Casterly Rock.”

“Are you saying that I have done wrong, aunt?”

“Not at all, your grace,” Celia said. “Although you  _ are  _ the king, you are still a young man mourning his father. I believe that someone has misled you for their own gain or did not know the whole truth before the presented it to you.”

“Then who do you suppose these rumors have sprung from if not from your husband and Lord Stark?” Lord Varys asked.

“It is quite strange that Lord Stannis and Renly Baratheon fled the Red Keep just before my husband and Lord Stark’s arrest and have now claimed themselves as the rightful king of Westeros.”

Murmurs began to circulate around the throne room. 

“Treason is treason!” Pycelle shouted. 

“Anything else?” Joffrey asked. 

“You are not a father yet, your grace, but know a father would never endanger their children in such a way as you seem to believe Lord Stark and my husband have. If you hold any fondness for me as your aunt, your grave, I ask that you pardon Lord Stark and my husband as much as you are able.”

“Your sweet words have moved me, aunt,” Joffrey said. “But Lord Stark has to confess. He has to confess and say that I'm the king...or there'll be no mercy for him.”

Surely Ned would do so for all their sakes. “He will.”

—

Joanna has a shortness of breath and Celia did her best to calm her daughter. Her precious little daughter, who deserves none of the hardships of the world. 

“I want Father,” she cried softly. 

“He will come for us soon, sweetling,” Celia said gently, tapping her hand carefully upon her daughter's chest, helping regulate her breathing. “And your grandfather is coming soon,” she added. “Soon everything will be right. I promise.”

—

Celia stood next to Sansa, her arm protectively around her daughter’s shoulders as they watched Ned brought out by two men of the city watch. Her heart aches as she watched people scream and throw things at him, calling him a traitor and a coward. Ned was none of those things. They did not know him. They did not know him at all. 

Ned seemed to shout something at someone but then he was pushed onward until he stood upon the landing of the steps of Baelor. The crowd grew quiet as the bells began to wring and Ned faced them, and began to speak once they grew quiet.

“I am Eddard Stark,” he said, his voice clear and true. “Lord of Winterfell. And Hand of the King.” He looked to Celia and Sansa and she tried to smile at him, but worry gnawed at her belly. “I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of Gods and Men,” he continued. He would be given mercy. “I have acted foolishly and without the king’s knowledge, did not do my duty to protect the children of my friend Robert. Before his blood was cold I listened to rumors and said nothing.”

The crowd grew angry and something was thrown at Ned’s head and Sansa gasped. Celia held her daughter tight. The Hound steadied him and pushed Ned forward.

“Let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, by the Grace of all his gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

Maester Pycelle stepped forward. “As we sin, so do we suffer. This man has confessed his crimes in sight of gods and men. The gods are just but beloved Baelor taught us that they can also be merciful. What is to be done with this traitor, Your Grace?”

The people began to shout, but Joffrey raised his hand to silence them, a smile on his lips.

“My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch. Stipped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile. And my aunt, Lady Celia,” he looked to her. She smiled at him, hoping that he could feel the slight affection she felt for him at that moment, “has begged mercy for her good brother. But they have the soft hearts of women, as long as I am your King, treason shall never go unpunished.” The smile slips from Celia’s lips and Sansa whispered  _ no _ . Joffrey turned. “Ser Ilyn, bring me his head.”

“No!” Sansa screamed. She rushed forward from Celia’s hold but was then held back by guards. “No! Stop him! Please!”

People rushed towards Joffrey, begging him to take back the command.

Ser Ilyn drew Ice and approached Ned who was forced on his knees.

“Stop it!” Celia cried over the roar of the crowd. “Stop!” Her knees gave out and a guard helped guide her to the ground as she began to scream with her daughter. “Ned! Ned! No!” Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “Please! Have mercy!”

Ned bowed his head after looking out into the crown one last time. He muttered something under his breath, his eyes closed and Ser Ilyn brought his sword down.

“No!” Celia thought she heard Arya’s voice crying out from the crowd. 

Celia stared as Ned’s headless body fell to the side and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry.


	53. Joy II

“Could we have one?” Joy asked the baker. “A lemon one or any of them?” She didn’t know how much they cost. Uncle Jaime always bought the for the girls when they went out to the market. He was the one who always carried the coin. 

“Three coppers,” the baker said. 

“How about a nice, fat pigeon?” Arya asked. They had been able to catch one with a stone. 

“Oh, piss off now,” the man said. “Go on.”

“What about stale ones from yesterday?” Arya asked. 

“Or burnt ones?” Joy added, her stomach grumbling. 

“Piss off!”

Suddenly, people all seemed to be heading in the same direction. 

“Hey!” Arya shouted, grabbing hold of one of the urchins running past them. “Where’s everyone going? What’s happening?”

“They’re taking him to the Sept of Baelor!”

“Who?” Joy asked. 

“The Hand of the King.” The boy ripped himself from Arya’s loosening grasp and ran on. 

It did not take long for Joy and Arya to run as well. Were they going to let Lord Stark go? When they got to the sept, Arya climbed into the pedestal of Baelor's stature and helped pull Joy up so they could get a better look. Lord Stark seemed to see them as Joy could see his eyes widen from where they were. He seemed to shout something. 

Joy caught sight of Aunt Celia and Sansa standing upon the rise with the queen and Joffrey. There were so many guards. 

“We have to get to him,” Arya said, catching Joy off guard. “We have to make them stop.” She climbed down. 

“Arya, wait!”

Uncle Ned began to speak, confessing a sin Joy was sure he hadn’t committed. 

“Bring me his head!” she heard Joffrey shout. 

“No!”

Joy tries to grab at Arya but her friend was then grabbed by an older man who then took hold of Joy as well. He pressed their faces into his chest.

“Don’t look!” he ordered. 

“Let me go!” Arya shouted as Joy began to struggle. 

Joy pulled her face away and looked up to the sky. A flock of pigeons flew from the courtyard and Joy heard her aunt scream one last time. 

“You’re coming with me.” The man took hold of the back of their shirts and began to drag them away. 

“Where are you taking us!” Arya demanded. 

“North, boys,” the man said. “We're going north.”

—

The man had only briefly introduced himself as Yoren before barely saying that he was of the Night Watch. If Joy remembered correctly, Arya’s brother Bran had joined. 

“You’re Arry and you’re Blue Jay now, hear me? Arry and Blue Jay the orphan brothers. No one asks an orphan too many questions, ‘cause nobody gives three shots. What’s your names?”

“Arry,” Arya said. 

“Blue Jay,” Joy answered.

“You've a long way to travel, and in bad company. l've twenty this time—men and boys all bound for the Wall. Lord Stark gave me the pick of the dungeons, and l didn't find no little lordlings down there. This lot—half of them would turn you over to the King quick as spit for a pardon. And the other half would do the same, except they'd rape you first.” Joy whimpered. “So keep to yourself—and when you piss, do it in the woods alone. You stay with this lot, boy. And stay or l'll lock you in the back of the wagon with these three.” He pointed at the caged wagon that held three men, one with a hood over his head. 

Then, Yoren left them. Joy held onto Arya as they stood there, unsure of what to do. 

“This one looks like a girl,” a fat boy said. 

Joy stiffened. 

“Don’t call my brother a boy,” Arya said, stepping into her role of Arry perfectly. 

“He’s got a sword, this one,” a skinny boy said. 

“What’s a gutter rat like you doing with a sword?”

“Maybe he’s a little squire,” the skinny one said. 

“He ain’t no squire,” the fat one argued. “Look at him. He looks like a girl too. l bet he stole that sword.”

“Let’s have a look,” the skinny one said, pushing Arya to the ground. 

“I could use me a sword like that,” the fat one said. 

“L–leave him alone!” Joy shouted, which got her pushed as well. 

“Hey!” Arya growled. 

“Give it here, midget,” said the fat one. 

“You’d better give Hot Pie the sword,” the skinny one taunted. “I’ve seen him kick a boy to death.”

“I knocked him down and I kicked him in the balls,” the fat one, Hot Pie, said. “And I kept kicking him until he was dead. I kicked him all to pieces.”

“That’s impossible,” Joy said, which earned her a kick to the side. 

Arya lifted her sword and pointed it at Hot Pie, standing and putting herself between the two bullies and Joy. “You want it? I’ll give it to you. I already killed someone. I bet you’ve never killed anyone. I bet you’re a liar. But I’m not. I’m good at killing fat boys. I like killing fat boys.”

Hot Pie stepped back and ran into an older boy with piercing blue eyes. 

“You like picking on the little ones, do you?” the older boy asked. Joy blushed slightly at how deep the boy’s voice was. “l've been hammering an anvil these past ten years. When l hit that steel, it sings. Are you gonna sing when l hit you?”

The two bullies seemed rather frightened of the large boy and fled. When they did so, Arya helped Joy up and brushed off the dust from the seat of her pants. 

“That’s castle-forges steel,” the boy said. “Where’d you steal it?”

“It was a gift,” Arya said, sticking out her chin. 

“lt don't matter now,” the boy said. “Where we're going, they don't care what you've done. They've got rapers, pickpockets, highwaymen, murderers.”

“Which are you?” Joy asked.

“Armourer's apprentice,” he said. “But my master got sick of me, so here l am.”

“Come on, you sorry sons of whores!” Yoren shouted. “It's a thousand leagues from here to the Wall, and winter is coming!”

—

As they journeyed, Joy paid close attention to the older boy, Gendry. He had to be about a year younger than Arthur or thereabouts. But something about him looked familiar. His fake hair and bright blue eyes reminded Joy a bit of Mya.   
Joy had thought that perhaps she recognized him because he had been the boy to pull her out of the crushing crowd when she got separated from Vylarr and the rest, but that didn’t seem to be it.

She vaguely remembered a Baratheon cousin of the king had gone missing with Joy’s father and Uncle Robert had said that his cousin had mentioned a bastard and, although the king had tried to find him, the boy or girl was never found, disappearing into the chaos of Flea’s bottom. 

Joy remembered Uncle Jaime growing angry, thinking that the boy was Uncle Robert’s, but the king had assured Uncle Jaime that he had fathered no bastards for almost ten years with Mya being the only one he knew about. 

Joy continued to watch Gendry, wondering if he was the child of the Baratheon cousin. 

—

During one of their many stops in the woods, two Gold Cloaks came riding in on horseback. Gendry, who had taken Joy’s share of the logs, put his wood down and Arya did the same. 

“What are Gold Cloaks doing this fat from King’s Landing?” Gendry asked. 

Arya grabbed Joy by the back of the shirt and pulled her down until they were partially hidden under a wooden slate bridge. 

“What are you doing?” Gendry asked.

“They’re looking for us,” Arya answered. 

“You're in command here?” one of the Gold Cloaks asked Yoren. 

“You’re a long way from home,” the Night Watch man said. 

“I asked you a question.”

“Aye you did,” Yoren said. “You asked without manners. And I chose not to answer.”

Joy had to suck her lips in to keep from laughing. Yoren was rough around the edges, but he seemed rather protective at times. Part of Joy wondered if he had once been a father. 

The second Gold Cloak pulled out a roll of paper and handed it to Yoren. “I have a royal warrant. For one of these gutter rats you're transporting.”

Gendry glances at Joy and Arya and Joy wondered if they thought she was with Vylarr and the others and were only looking for Arya. 

“Well the thing is,” Yoren said, handing the scroll back. “These gutter rats belong to the Night's Watch now. That puts them beyond the reach of kings and queens.” The Gold Cloak tried to pull his sword out, but Yoren had his dagger out quicker, putting it just at the man’s thigh. “It's a funny thing. People worry so much about their throats, they forget about what's down low. Now I sharpened this blade before breakfast. I could shave a spider's arse if I wanted to. Or, I could nick this artery in your leg and once it's nicked, there's no one around here who knows how to un-nick it.” He took the sword from the Gold Cloak and the other one pulled out his own sword. “We'll just keep that. Good steel is always needed on the wall. Seems you have a choice. You can die here at this crossroads a long way from home. Or you can go back to your city and tell your masters you didn't find what you were looking for.”

“We're looking for a boy named Gendry,” the Gold Cloak who still had his sword said.” Joy’s heart thundered in her chest. “He carries a bull's head helmet. Anyone turning him over will earn the King's reward!” He shouted to all of them. “We'll be back. With more men.” He looked to Yoren. “And I'll be taking your head home along with that bastard boy.”

As the Gold Cloaks left, Joy and Arya got up and everyone in the camp turned to look at Gendry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gendry is not Robert’s bastard in this. Just FYI. 
> 
> And I’m not tagging Gendrya because I’m not sure yet.


	54. Jaime XVIII

“Ned Stark is dead!” 

The news was shouted about the camp, coming louder and louder and louder. Voices joined with the first until the sound rang across Jaime’s head like a mourning bell. 

No one paid attention to Jaime as they gossiped. How many of them knew Ned as a person? How many of them truly knew him?

Jaime curled in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. He closed his eyes and shielded himself from the world, disappearing inside as tears threatened to spill from his lashes. 

—

“My father is dead because of you,” Jon growled. “He’s dead and you’re still here.”

Jaime looked at his nephew sadly. A parent’s death always makes a man out of a boy, especially a father’s. He could remember just a few months ago of Jon’s reddened cheeks as he was granted a betrothal to Sansa. He had been a boy then, but he was a man with blood on his hands now. How quickly a person could change. Yet, Jaime could still see the quiet boy beneath. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said. “Ned—”

“You don’t deserve to say his name,” Jon growled. 

“Your father was a good man and one of my best friends. If I could, I would have gladly taken his place.”

“Then why don’t you? Perhaps Theon has the right of it.”

“Killing me will only anger my father and put my family in danger. Sansa is betrothed to Joffrey now, you know. Do you want her wed to the boy who took your father’s head?”

He saw the boy clench his fists. “Then what do you suppose we do?”

“Win the war or do something to get your aunt and cousins out of the king’s grasp.” Jaime truly didn’t know. It was stupid of Joffrey to kill Ned, stupid and foolish. “Speak to your mother. She knows the south better than you or your brother. She’ll know what to do.”

—

Ned and Robert both haunted him. 

Had he never slept with Cersei, had he never encouraged the obsession and the lust between them in the beginning, had he been only a brother, none of this would have happened. His brothers in arms, his true brothers, would still be alive and with their children. 

It was all Jaime’s fault. It’s why he took the anger and the mistreatment of his nephews. They had every right to be angry. If it weren’t for him, their father would be alive. 

Did Mya hate him too now?

Did Myrcella and Tommen?

Did Arthur, Sansa, Joanna, and Eddie hate him now?

He should have been the one to die instead of Ned or Robert. It should have been him. He had been ready to die, ready to take responsibility. 

If only he had done it sooner… none of this would have happened. 

Yet, a selfish part of him still wanted to go home. 

Jaime awoke to shouts of  _ King in the North _ .

—

It was Cat who came to him next. 

His good sister looked pale and her hair did not have the same perfection it once did. Her eyes were distant, although one might think them to be ice, but Cat’s eyes were the same as Celia’s. It was the same look she had when she first learned the truth. 

“I wish my sister had never married you,” she told him. “My sister is good and kind and you have ruined her and her children.”

“I deny none of it,” Jaime said. “She is a better woman than I deserve and I tell her that almost every day and yet, she loves me. She loves me and I cannot help but wonder why the gods have blessed me with such a thing. We don’t get to choose who we love.”

“Is that what you told yourself when you took your sister in your marriage bed?” Cat hissed. 

“I never took her there. My marriage bed belongs only to Celia.”

“And that makes it better?”

“It doesn’t. If I could go back and change everything, I would. But the gods haven’t granted me such a power, so I can’t.”

“You are a man without honor.”

“But I’ve put my family and my duty to them first, surely that counts for something.”

Cat scowled at him. 

“Have you been able to mourn, Cat?” he asked her. “Have you been allowed to mourn your husband and the father of your children? Or have you been forced to be a mother in all the hours since you learned about Ned?” 

She looked at him, her eyes glassy. 

“No one is here and no one would believe me anyway. Celia told me you always had a rather large heart. Mourn, Cat. Your sons will need you again in the morning.”


	55. Sansa IV

“You look quite nice,” Joffrey told her as she heard a man screaming for mercy behind him. 

“Thank you, my prince,” Sansa said with a slight curtsy. 

“Your grace,” he corrected. “I’m the King now.” He offered his arm to her. “Walk with me. l want to show you something.”

Sana’a stared at his arm, wondering how best to refuse him when the Hound spoke. “Do as you're bid, child.”

She took Joffrey’s arm and the two of them began to walk. 

“As soon as you’ve had your first blood, I’ll put a son in you,” he told her. 

Sansa still dreamed of a dark haired boy named Jaime, but now she thought she should name him Eddard, after her uncle, even if her cousin Robb wanted to use the name now. 

“Mother says that shouldn’t be long.”

Sansa has dreamed of being a woman and a wife one day, but now she wished to remain a girl forever. 

Sansa looked up and saw piles along the wall and—

“No!” She begged, looking away. “Please, no!”

“This one is your uncle,” he said, pointing to the head. “This one here. Look at it and see what happens to traitors.”

“You told my mother you would be merciful.”

“l was,” her cousin said. “l gave him a clean death. Look at him.”

“Please let us go home,” she begged. “We won’t do any treason, I swear—”

“Mother says l'm still to marry you. So you'll stay here, and obey. Look at him!”

Sansa winced and looked upon her uncle’s head as tears began to catch upon her lashes. 

“Well?”

“How long do l have to look?” The image was burned upon her mind and she would never unsee it. Sansa knew the image would haunt her for the rest of her days, even if she were old and grey and forgot everyone’s names, she would still remember the image of her uncle’s head on a spike. 

“As long as it pleases me. Do you see the empty spaces?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“It will be a present to you. After l raise my armies and kill your traitor cousins both, l'm going to give you Jon Stark’s head as well.”

Sansa looked at him, her eyes iron. Jon always played her knight. Always. “Or maybe he’ll give me yours.”

Joffrey stepped back at the head of her glare. Then, he composed himself. “My mother tells me a king should never strike his lady. Ser Meryn.”

Sansa went into shock as she felt an iron hand collide with her cheek twice and felt her lip slit on the impact. She froze and then looked upon Joffrey, who stood upon the stone bridge, looking up at her uncle’s head.

Her father was a kingslayer. 

Why couldn’t she be one as well?

She stepped forward, ready to push him when a hand came upon her shoulder. 

“Here, girl,” the Hound said, cleaning her lip with a rag.

“Will you obey now?” Joffrey asked. “Or do you need another lesson? l'll look for you in court.” He left her, Ser Meryn following behind him. 

“Save yourself some pain, girl,” the Hound told her. “Give him what he wants.”

“A Lannister always pays his debts,” she told him. “Always.”

The man looked at her for a moment before leaving himself. She looked back at her uncle’s head and let the tears continue to fall. 

—

Sansa dreamed of Uncle Ned and Uncle Robert. 

She dreamed of Uncle Robert’s belly spilling blood and her Uncle Ned’s head rolling upon the stones at her feet, only for his head to turn into Jon’s. 

She would wake up screaming and it took her mother hours to calm her down again.

—

While Joffrey was off on some stupid hunt and Sansa’s mother was once more locked in her rooms worn Joanna, Avari and Aemon, Sansa was forced to sit and have supper with the queen and her two Baratheon cousins. 

“When is Uncle Jaime coming home?” Tommen asked. 

“When the rebellion is squashed,” the queen said. “And the rebels killed.”

“Wouldn’t that mean Sansa’s other cousins would be dead?” Myrcella asked. She looked at Sansa with worry and her fair haired cousin slipped her hand into Sansa’s squeezing it gently. 

Sansa squeezed her hand back. 

“It’s okay,” Sansa said, looking her aunt in the eye. “Their all traitors. I am loyal to your brother, the king.”

The queen smirked and continued to eat. 

“Is grandfather coming to take Aunt Celia to Casterly Rock?” Tommen asked. The queen frowned again. “She usually has her children there, doesn’t she?”

“Your grandfather is coming to help us,” Cersei said with a smile. Her green gaze went to Sansa. “The Old Lion is very protective of his grandchildren afterall.”

Sansa said nothing, knowing full well she and her family were nothing but hostages. 

—

Sansa sat with her mother and sister and Avari as they sewed quietly. Their chambers had been quiet since the… since the execution. Her mother had been confined to a bed for a week because of her fainting. Luckily the baby had been fine. Aemon sat near his mother, playing with a wooden lion. 

The door opened and they all turned. 

Sansa’s grandfather stood at the door, sweat upon his brow and panting ever so slightly as though he had run to them. 

Sansa was out of her seat in a second, her project falling to the ground as she rushed to him crying. Joanna rushes to him as well, a son upon her lips. 

Tywin Lannister held them both tightly. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, kissing them on the top of their heads. “It’s going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tywin has arrived!


	56. Joanna I

Joanna sat in her grandfather’s lap as he spoke with her mother. She had her arms wrapped around his chest and her face pressed into his shirt. He smelled like her father and home. He smelled of leather and horses and the sea. Her grandfather stroked her back gently, soothing her as she snuggled into him, not wanting to let him go in fear that he would disappear like her father did. 

She wanted to go home to Casterly Rock. 

“Joffrey is a fool to think the North would not react negatively to Ned Stark's death,” her grandfather said, his voice low and threatening like a lion. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “I know you were close to him, as were the children.”

“I tried to speak reason, but he wouldn’t listen,” her mother said, her voice sad and quiet. 

“It wasn’t your fault, my dear,” the Old Lion said. “I have no doubt someone has been whispering to him. Jofffrey can be a cruel boy, but he shouldn’t be this stupid.” There was a pause. “Are the rumors true?”

“My lord?”

“Are the rumors of the children true?”

There was a long silence. “I’m sorry, my lord,” Joanna’s mother said. “They are.”

“And Robert knew?”

“He made plans already, plans that would keep the Baratheons in power but also give the Lannisters, the true Lannisters the power necessary to correct past mistakes.”

“Tell me.”

“He planned one naming Mya his heir,” her mother said. “Once Arthur was older, the two would marry. Their children would be Lannisters, but the Baratheon stag would remain part of the royal sigil.”

Joanna’s grandfather took a deep breath. “Robert truly became wise in the end of this, despite his rocky beginning.” There was a pause. “I shall do what I can.”

Joanna fell asleep in her grandfather’s arms as he and her mother continued to talk before she could hear the rest. 

—

Joanna sat between Sansa and Myrcella as the family met together privately. It felt strange to not have Arthur or Eddie and her father there. The room felt bigger and more empty without them. The other lords who had made up Uncle Robert’s council were gone, although Lord Stannis and Renly had been long gone when before her father went away. 

“You must allow the girls to go home,” her grandfather said. “Your aunt would feel better to give birth at Casterly Rock and, perhaps, Arthur and Eddie might be returned to us if they are seen as not being hostages. Even the North might show a sign of good faith by releasing your Uncle Jaime if they see that their aunts and cousins are not being held at sword point.”

“My aunt and cousins are safer in King’s Landing,” Joffrey said, scowling at their grandfather. Rumors have come that the Ironborn may decide to rebel as well, they already know how to take Casterly Rock. What’s to keep them from doing that again? No, I shall not send them to Casterly when they would be much safer here.”

“Safer?” their grandfather asked. “And what of Sansa’s lip and bruised cheek?”

Sansa squeezed Joanna’s hand gently. Her radiant features were marred by the purpling bruise across her cheek and the scabbed split along her lower lip. Their mother had cried when she saw Sansa like that. 

“My granddaughter has been in your care for so little time and yet she has already been hurt. What will your subject think if they see that she has been disrespected so?” Joanna’s grandfather sounded dangerous, like a lion circling in on its prey. “Who did it?”

“Ser Meryn,” Uncle Tyrion said, sounding bored. Aunt Cersei and Joffrey glared at him, but Joanna’s uncle just shrugged. 

“Have him executed,” Joanna’s grandfather said. “If I see any bruises on Sansa or Joanna, you will get to see first hand what the Old Lion of Casterly Rock was like during your father’s rebellion.”

“Fine,” Joffrey snarled. “But I will not let them return to Casterly Rock. They are needed.”

“You have killed the Stark patriarch and broken a betrothal between his second son and Sansa, you think they will take kindly to their cousin’s imprisonment. You think anyone will think kindly of you for keeping their and your family hostage?”

“Who said they were hostages for them?” Aunt Cersei asked plainly. Everyone turned their attention to her. “The Hound can be just as brutal as his brother,” she said, her green eyes boring into her father’s. “Wasn’t my dear good sister supposed to be in the Red Keep when the sack happened? I wonder what would have happened had she been there. What would have changed.”

“You dare—” Joanna’s grandfather growled. 

“It is not a dare, Father,” Aunt Cersei said, her eyes as green as wildfire. “It’s a warning. If you wish to learn if you will have another grandson or granddaughter, you will do everything in your power to make sure that we win this war.”

Everyone was silent. “I always told you that I was the one who would carry on the Lannister legacy. You’ve grown soft in your old age, Father. I’m disappointed.”

—

Her grandfather tucked Joanna and her sister and Aemon into the big bed. Her mother and Avari stood quietly as they watched. 

“When will we go home?” Joanna asked softly. 

“Soon, my little cub,” he told her gently, tucking the cover around her neck. “We’ll be home soon and everyone will be there.”

“Even Father?”

“Even your father,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow. “I will do everything in my power to get you home, sweetling. I promise.”

—

Joanna awoke to the sound of her mother and grandfather whispering with Avari. 

“How could you not tell me?” she heard her grandfather ask. 

“He wanted to tell you the truth,” her mother said. “As did I, but we worried about the children.”

“If it helps, my lord,” Avari said. “They hadn’t told me either.”

“That is somewhat of a comfort,” her grandfather admitted. “But why? Why would Jaime be so foolish as to allow himself to sire Cersei’s children?”

A ring came into Joanna’s ears. Surly she had heard wrong. She knew what the word  _ sire  _ meant. She wasn’t a fool. We’re Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen her sibling then? Did her father love them like he loved Arthur, Sansa, her, and Eddie and Mya and Joy? Her father had said he loved his children, but what if that was a lie? Myrcella looked like an older version of Joanna, but she was pretty and healthy. What if her father loved Myrcella more? What if her father had lied about loving her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joanna with her grandfather! 😭
> 
> And Tywin’s doing what he can, but you have to understand he is under threat as well.


	57. Jon IV

Jon followed his brother to the cage in which they kept their Uncle Jaime. He was tied to a wooden pole at the center of the cage, distant from any of the walls. 

“The King in the North,” their uncle said. “You were wise to keep me with you instead of in a castle for safekeeping. Although I would prefer a tent. We have had a lot of rain recently.”

“I will not risk my bannermen betraying me for Lannister coin,” Robb said with a snarl.

“You don’t trust the loyalty of the men following you into battle?” their uncle asked.

“Oh, I trust them with my life,” Robb assured them. “Just not with yours.”

Uncle Jaime nodded. “You’ve grown wise, though you shouldn’t have to. Although, I warn you that the only coin they would get would be from the crown, not my father. I have no doubt he is more worried about your aunt and cousins than he is of me.”

“Stannis Baratheon has sent ravens to all the high lords of Westeros,” Jon said. “King Joffrey Baratheon is neither a true king nor a true Baratheon. He's your bastard son.”

Their uncle remained impassive. “Even if that were true, Stannis is not the rightful king. Robert named Mya his heir before he passed.”

“How convenient for you,” Robb snarled. “My father learned the truth. That's why you had him executed.”

“I was your prisoner when your father lost his head.”

“Your son killed him so the world wouldn't learn who fathered him,” Robb said. 

“Yet the world seems to know,” Uncle Jaime said. “I do not want Joffrey to be king either. If offering you my head would end this war, I would, but you know as well as I that it will do nothing.”

“I'm sending one of your cousins down to King's Landing with my peace terms,” Robb said. 

“My sister cares not for our cousin. It is me she wants, but I advise you to not give me to her.”

“I take no orders from you, Lannister.”

“Promise me one thing,” Uncle Jaime said. “If you win this war, do not blame my wife and children for the actions of myself and Joffrey. They are innocent. Just as Myrcella and Tommen are innocent as well.”

Rob said nothing and left their uncle in his cage, Jon followed out, glancing back at the broken Lannister as they went. 

—

“You were always more level headed than your brother,” Uncle Jaime said as Jon entered the cage later in the evening. “Although I can see the same look in your eyes as your Uncle Brandon’s. It was the same look he had when he came to the Red Keep demanding his sister’s return.”

“I want justice for my father,” he said. 

“We all want justice in one way or another,” Uncle Jaime said. He looked at Jon carefully. “You still carry Sansa’s letter to you?”

“_ Letters _,” Jon said. “Your son might not remember our engagement, but I do, regardless of the promises my brother makes.”

“Hm,” his uncle hummed. “When Sansa was a little girl, she once said she wished to marry a man like me and I prayed to all the gods that she wouldn’t. I prayed for someone brave, gentle, and strong. I suppose the gods answered that in you.”

Jon blushed. “Yet the engagement is broken.”

“Not by me or my wife, I assure you. Even before Celia knew anything, she wanted our children nowhere near Joffrey.”

Jon knew that it would be years before he married Sansa, but it still hurt to think she was denied him, and he her. “If you wanted to win this war, what would you do?”

“Send someone you trust to find Arthur and Eddie,” Uncle Jaime told him. “Having the heir, the more liked heir, of Casterly Rock will give you a better edge with the Lannister men. Mya would be with them, as would Arya and Joy. But you need Mya. The Citadel should already have word of Robert legitimizing her, making her his heir. That might help you with the Baratheon men who are yet unsure of Stannis and Renly.”

“What would you do with Stannis and Renly?”

“Stannis is noble. He might see reason with Mya becoming queen as long as he was granted lordship over Storm’s End.” His uncle sighed. “Renly is another matter altogether. He has no legitimate right to the throne with Stannis still alive. He would be Stannis’ heir, but that’s it. I would not trust Renly. He is playing a game, trying to prove that he is as good at war as his brothers are and were. He has listened to people who care little for him and only for their own gain. Be wary of Renly, for he will not play the game with any rules.”

—

Everyone began to leave Robb’s tent except for Theon and Jon. 

“A word, your grace?” Theon asked. 

“You don’t have to call me that when no ones around,” Robb said. “Jon doesn’t.”

“You have a big enough head already,” Jon huffed.

“It's not so bad once you get used to it,” Theon grinned. 

“I'm glad someone's gotten used to it,” Robb snorted. 

“The Lannisters are going to reject your terms, you know?” Theon said. 

“Of course they are,” Robb replied. “I would honestly think less of them if they didn’t.”

“We can fight them in the fields as long as you like,” Theon said. “But we won't beat them until you take King's Landing. And we can't take King's Landing without ships. My father has ships and men who know how to sail them.”

“Men who fought my father,” Robb said.

“Men who fought King Robert to free themselves from the yoke of the South, just like you're doing now. I'm his only living son. He'll listen to me. I know he will. I'm not a Stark. I know that. But your father raised me to be an honorable man. We can avenge him together.”

“I don’t think it wise,” Jon said after listening to Theon. 

The two turned to him. “And why not?” Robb asked. 

“While I do not begrudge the Ironborn for their want of independence and Theon is more Stark in values, I do not think we can trust the Ironborn with King’s Landing.”

“Do you think them unable to handle it?” Theon asked darkly. 

“I do not trust them,” Jon said. “They did not participate in the Rebellion until victory was assured on our part and during their own rebellion…” he looked to Robb. “Surely you remember how Aunt Celia was afterward. She was frightened of her own shadow. We cannot sack King’s Landing as the Lannisters didn we cannot risk our aunt and cousins being hostages once more.” He looked to Theon. “If we start winning more battles, perhaps your father will reach out to us. We do not want to look weak when we are merely boys playing the game of men.” He thought for a moment. “But there is something you could do Theon.”

“And what is that?”

“The Lannisters are no doubt looking for my cousins that have escaped as well as Arya and Mya Stone. If you can take a group of men you can trust, perhaps we might yet get an upper hand. Mya is the only recognized bastard of Robert Baratheon and could easily be named his heir. Without Arya they would have no Stark hostages. If we have both heirs of Casterly Rock…”

Theon’s eyes widened. “We would be the ones with all the pieces, while they have few pawns far between.”

“Exactly.”

Robb thought about it for a moment. “Would you be willing to do it, Theon?”

“Aye,” the Ironborn replied. “I might even find smallfolk allies yet in my travels.”

Robb nodded. “Then there is something I need you and Mother to do, Jon.”

“What is that?”

“I need you to go treat with Renly Baratheon and feel him out.”

Jon remembered his uncle’s warning. “Wouldn’t it be wiser to treat with Stannis?”

“No. Renly has the numbers and popularity. Go to him first. Perhaps we can see the Baratheons find peace amongst themselves so we are a united front against the Lannisters.”

—

Jon said goodbye to his twin and farewell to his friend. 

“Perhaps you will hear word of Sansa,” his mother said kindly as they began to ride out. 

The letters that were kept under his leather warmed against his heart. Perhaps he could get a letter to her.

“Perhaps.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime advising his nephews, even if it is subtly!


	58. Arya III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost 3k words!

Arya and Joy sat away from the boys, which included Gendry, Lommy, and Hot Pie. The later two had become much nicer in the days since they all first met and they had all become friends in one way or another, but Joy still tended to gravitate towards Arya or Gendry. Although Hot Pie always seemed rather pleased when Joy spent time with him. 

They were still discussing the goldcloaks when Gendry retrieved the water he needed and headed back into the main camp. 

“If they come back, I say we yield,” Lommy said. “Gendry's the one they want. I don't want to get caught in the middle of a battle.”

“But Gendry’s for the Night Watch,” Joy said, her voice still in her high tones, her voice nowhere near as deep as Arya’s own. “There shouldn’t need to be a battle. He has no claim to whatever they want him for anyway.”

“I'm not afraid of no battles,” Hot Pie huffed. 

“If you got within a mile of a battle, you'd fill your pants,” Arya scoffed. 

“I've seen lots of battles,” the fat boy said. “I saw—”

“Liar,” Arya retorted. Most of them all knew Hot Pie liked spreading tall tales.

“I saw a man kill another man just outside a tavern in Flea Bottom,” Hot Pie insisted. “Stabbed him right in the neck.”

“Two men fighting isn't a battle,” Lommy said. 

“They had armor on,” Hot Pie continued 

“So?” Joy asked. 

So, if they got armor on, it's a battle.”

“No, it isn't,” Joy said, shaking her head. They wear armor at tourneys. That doesn’t make it a battle.”

“What’s a street urchin know about battles anyway?” Hot Pie huffed. 

Arya wondered what Hot Pie would think if he knew that Joy grew up with two of the greatest knights in Westeros. He’d probably piss his pants. She glanced at Gendry’s who came closer to them. “Gendry's an armorer's apprentice. Hot Pie, tell Gendry what makes it a battle.”

Joy’s lips pursed to hide her smile as Gendry held his bucket over the water, waiting expectantly. 

Hot Pie hesitates for a moment before answering. “It's when they've got armor on.

Gendry looked at the younger boy with a smirk. “Now who told you that.?”

“A knight?” the day boy said uncertainty. 

“How'd you know he was a knight?” Gendry asked. 

“Well, cause he got armor on.”

“You don't have to be a knight to have armor. Any idiot can buy armor.” 

Arya smiled and felt some heat rise to her cheeks. 

“How'd you know?” Hot Pie asked in annoyance.

“‘Cause I sold armor,” Gendry replies plainly. 

Lommy nudged Hot Pie and the two left. Arya and Joy finished washing the pans and stood up, while Joy was ready to return to the others, Arya went over to Gendry, who was carrying more water into the camp

“What do the gold cloaks want with you?”

“No idea,” he said, turning around.

“You’re a liar,” Arya huffed.

He rolled his eyes as he headed for a camp fire. “You shouldn't insult people that are bigger than you,” he called over his shoulder without looking at them. 

Arya pauses for a moment before continuing to follow him. “Then I wouldn't get to insult anyone.”

Joy trailed behind them, never leaving their side for long. 

“Well, I don’t care what any of them want,” Gendry said, pouring the water into the main basin for washing clothes. “No good's ever come of their questions.”

“Who asked you questions before?” Joy asked. 

“You two can be such a pain in the ass,” he muttered under his breath and Arya saw Joy’s dash flush into a light shade of pink. 

“Who asked questions?” Arya repeated. 

Gendry sighed. “The Hand of the King—well, the past two anyway. Lord Arryn came first a few weeks before they died and then Lord Stark a few weeks before he died too.”

“Lord Stark?” Her father. Her heart ached and she wanted to cry. She wanted her parents so badly. 

“See?” Gendry said, handing Arya the bucket. “Asking me questions is bad luck.” He began to make his way back to the river. “You'll probably be dead soon.”

“What did they ask about?” Joy asked. 

“My mum,” Gendry replied. 

“Who's your mum?” Arya asked. 

“Just my mum. Worked in a tavern. Died when I was little.”

“And who was your father?” Joy asked. 

Gendry for more water from the river. “He could be one of those gold-hatted bastards, for all I know.” He went back to the tub he was filling.What about you, anyway? You thought they were after you two, why? Did you kill someone, or is it just because you're girls?”

“I'm not a girl!” Arya said. Joy said nothing but, to be fair, most people in the camp jokingly called her Flower Jay because of how pretty she was, even as a boy. Plenty made fun of her for it too. 

Gendry sighed. “Yes you are. You think I'm as stupid as the rest of them?”

“Stupider,” Arya said. 

“The Night's Watch doesn't take girls, everyone knows that,” Joy added. 

“That’s true,” Gendry said. He turned and joy stopped right in front of him, looking down at her feet. Joy’d never figured out not to walk too close to people either. “You’re still a girl.”

Arya could see Joy’s ears turning red. “We are not!”

“Well, pull your cock out and take a piss then,” Gendry said expectantly. 

“I don’t need to take a piss,” Joy said glumly. 

Both Arya and Gendry were quiet for a moment, both a little surprised that Joy said _ piss _. 

“Lommy and Hot Pie can’t know,” Arya said seriously. “No one can know.”

“They won't,” Gendry assured her. “Not from me.”

“My name’s not Arry,” she said. “And hers isn’t Jay. It’s Joy Hill, of House Lannister and I’m Arya, of House Stark. Yoren is taking us to Winterfell.”

Gendry zeroed in on Arya. “He was your father—the Hand, the traitor. 

“He was never a traitor!” Arya shouted. “Joffrey is a liar.”

“So you're a highborn, then,” Gendry said. Joy looked back to her feet and looked away. “You're a lady.”

“No,” Arya began. “I mean yes. My mother was a lady, and my aunt—”

“You were a lord's daughter and you lived in a castle.” Shook his head before returning his attention to Arya. “Look, all that about cocks. I should never have said that. I've been pissing in front of you and everything. I should be calling you milady.”

“Do _ not _call me milady.”

Gendry smiled and gave a short bow. “As milady commands.” Arya pushed him, but he barely moved. The ass. “Well, that was unladylike.”

Arya pushed him to the ground that time and he laughed as Arya stormed off, Joy tailing behind her. 

—

As they continued to march, Arya began to worry about Joy. She hadn’t thought much about it, but Arya realized that Gendry had apologized to _ her _about the cocks and pissing, but not to Joy. Which made no sense. Joy was much more a lady than Arya was and was far more lady-like when it comes to how she acts. Arya had grown up with four brothers, five including Theon. Joy, although she had Arthur and Eddie, has grown up with Sansa, who had been a lady at three. 

“Does it bother you?” Arya asked her. “That Gendry only felt bad about saying those things to me?”

Joy glanced at Gendry, who was carrying wood and Arya could see a deep blush spread across her cheeks. For some reason, Arya found it a little annoying. “I’m just a bastard,” Joy said quietly. “I forget sometimes because of how Aunt Celia and Uncle Jaime treated me, but I’m only a bastard.”

“You’re still a lady,” Arya said. 

Joy looked down at her feet. “Not really. I was just lucky. People don’t usually care for bastards or what they think. I don’t mind that Gendry didn’t apologize.”

Arya frowned. It was obvious that Joy _ did _mind. 

“You should apologize to Joy,” Arya said when she and Gendry were ordered to wash the pots. 

“What?”

“You should apologize to Joy. You didn’t send you said cocks and piss. She’s a lady too.”

Gendry blinked. “Was she bothered by it? She said piss too.”

“Joy’s not like me,” Arya said. “She’s a real lady.”

“She’s a Hill.”

“But she’s also a Lannister. My aunt raised her and she’s used to the life of a lady.”

Gendry nodded and went over to Joy to apologize. Arya watched them and saw Joy blushing again, her hands fisting and tugging at her tunic as she nodded. For some reason it made Arya’s stomach twist slightly when Gendry smiled. 

—

Joy was asleep next to Arya as she sharpened Needle. Yoren came in to check on them all. 

“You should be sleeping,” the man said. “Tomorrow's a long march. Thirty miles, if it don't piss on us.”

“I can't sleep.” He offered her his wine skin. “I don't like the taste.” She never had and could never understand why Robb and Jon and Theon seemed to like it. 

“Well,” Yoren said with a chuckle. “You don't drink it for the flavor, to be honest.” He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes and Arya simply stared at him. He opened his eyes and she looked away. “What?”

“How do you sleep?” Arya asked. 

“Same as most men, I think.” He shrugged. 

“But you've seen things, horrible things.”

“Aye. I've seen some pretty things, too, but not nearly so many.”

“How do you sleep when you... when you have those things in your head?”

He looked at her almost sadly. “You didn't see that. I made damn sure.”

“I close my eyes and I see them up there. All of them standing there. Joffrey, the Queen and... and my aunt and cousin.” She could still hear Sansa screaming. She could hear Aunt Celia too. The only glimpse she got afterward was her aunt fainting. Was the baby okay?

“You know,” Yoren began. “We've got something in common, me and you. You know that? I must have been a couple of years older than you. I saw my brother stabbed through the heart right on our doorstep. He weren't much of a villain what skewered him. Willem, the lad's name was. He ran off before anyone could spit. And I just stood there, watching my brother die. Here's the funny part. I can't picture my brother's face anymore. But Willem, oh, he was a nice-looking boy. He had good white teeth, blue eyes, one of those dimpled chins all the girls like. I would think about him when I was working, when I was drinking, when I was having a shit. It got to the point where I would say his name every night before I went to bed. Willem. Willem. Willem. A prayer almost. Well, one day, Willem came riding back into town. I buried an ax so deep into Willem's skull, they had to bury him with it. Willem's horse got me to the Wall and I've been wearing black ever since. Well... That'll help you sleep, eh?”

Arya stared at him with wide eyes. He’d been sent to the wall for killing the man who killed his brother? That wasn’t fair. 

A horn blast came from outside the deal parades keep. Yoren straightedges quickly and began to spit at the others to rise. 

Joy was up in an instant, Gendry as well. 

“You three keep out of sight.”

“No,” Arya said. “I’m not afraid.”

“I can fight,” Gendry argued. 

“And what about this one then?” Yoren said, pointing to Joy. “Most recruits think she might be a girl. Do you think whatever’s out there will be kind to her. A bastard girl?” He pointed to Arya. “You at least can shout your name and be fine, but she’ll wet one of those bastard’s cocks if your not careful.”

Arya flinched and Gendry automatically stood between Joy and Yoren. 

“Good,” Yoren said gruffly. “Keep out of sight and if things go wrong, you run. Do you hear me? You run North and you don’t look back.” He began shouting to the others. “Hey, there's men out there who want to fuck your corpses. Outside, now!”

“Goldcloaks!” a man shouted. 

“Everyone out!”

Arya, Joy, and Gendry watched from the bushes.

“Where's the bastard, crow?” the soldier on the horse ordered. 

“Got more than a few bastards here,” Yoren shouted walking towards him. “Who's asking?”

“Ser Amory Lorch,” the man said. “Sworn bannerman to Lord Tywin Lannister.”

“That’s a lie,” Joy said quietly. “He works for Uncle Tyrion in the Red Keep.”

“These men from the capital requested our assistance,” he motioned about them “Drop your weapons in the name of the king”

“Now, which king would that be?” Yoren asked. 

Ser Amory paused for a moment. “This is your last chance. In the name of King Joffrey, drop your weapons.”

Yoren looked at the Lannister soldiers and spat on the ground. 

“I don't think I will.”

“So be it.”

A goldcloaks shot Yoren in the shoulder with a crossbow. He fell back with the force but stood up regardless. Arya tried to go to him, but Hendry held her back. 

“I always hated crossbows,” Yoren said with a growl. “Take too long to load.”

Yoren swung his sword and slashed the throat of a nearby goldcloak. He battled against them and took down a few more of them before being subdued. Arya gasped as the soldiers held Yoren between their spears and a small sob came from Joy as Ser Amory pierced Yoren through the top of his head with his sword. Yoren slipped from the sword, falling to his knees, dead. 

“Stay here,” Gendry hissed as he and the other recruits ran from the bushes and began to fight against the soldiers. 

Arya began to run after him. 

“Boy, come here,” one of the men from the cage shouted. “Boy! Sweet boy, help us.” Arya paused for a moment. “Come back here! Help us, boy! A man can fight! Free us!” Arya saw an axe and grabbed it. She went to the cage. “Give it to me.” She did some before running back into the battle. 

Arya sees Gendry get overpowered and she hears Joy crying out in pain as one of the soldiers grabs her by the hair, dragging the other girl out from the bushes. 

“Put them on the wagon!” a soldier shouted. 

“There's more here,” another shouted. “Come on.”

Arya tried to run, but a soldier stepped out and hit her in the chest with the butt of his sword and she fell to the ground. 

“What do we have here?” the man said, taking the sword from her as she gasped for breath. 

“No!”

“That's a fine little blade,” he said “Maybe I'll pick my teeth with it.”

“Round up there survivors!” Ser Amory shouted. “We’ll take them back to Harrenhal.” 

“You heard him,” the soldier over Arya said. “You're coming with us.” He grabbed Arya and yanked her up by the shoulder and then pushed her forward, pushing Hot Pie as well. 

The goldcloaks corralled the remaining recruits and prepared to march back to camp. 

“Help!” Arya turned and saw Lommy on the ground, with a crossbow bolt in his leg. “Help me!” 

They stopped and the man who had taken Needle went over to him. “Something wrong with your leg, boy?”

“Look at it,” Lommy said, sounding more like a child than ever. 

“Can you walk?” the man asked, kneeling next to the blond boy. 

“No,” Lommy shook his head. “You got to carry me.”

“All right.” He extended his hand as though he was found to help Lommy up, but stabbed I’m in the throat with Needle instead. Arya could see Lommy’s eyes grow wide before the sword was withdrawn and blood began to bubble out of his mouth and he fell back, dying. 

“Carry him,” the soldier said and the other goldcloaks laughed. 

Joy took in a sharp breath and Arya turned to see Ser Amory knocking over Yoren’s kneeling corpse. 

“We're looking for a bastard named Gendry,” Ser Amory said. “Give him up or I'll start taking eyeballs.”

Everyone was quiet, but a few people began to look subtly at Gendry. The older boy was breathing heavily. Arya shrank back, trying to think of something. 

“You want Gendry?” Joy asked, she stepped forward. 

Arya could hear Gendry’s breath catch in his throat, but he almost looked resigned to it. 

Joy pointed toward Lommy’s body. “You already got him. See,” she said. “He loved that helmet. That’s Gendry.”

That when Arya saw Gendry’s bull helmet next to Lommy’s head. 

—

Arya awoke to Joy crying, but she also heard Gendry trying to calm her down. 

“I can’t go back to the Red Keep,” the girl sobbed. “I can’t. Not even Uncle Tywin could protect me. Joffrey h–hates me.”

“You need to breathe,” Gendry said gently. Arya didn’t think she had ever heard him speak so softly. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to look after you, I promise.”

“No,” Joy sniffed. “If it comes to it, you need to protect Arya. She’s more important.” The girl sniffed again. “If it comes down to it, pick Arya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess we have a love triangle on our hands and I know where it’s going!
> 
> I’m coming up with rules for a possible Celiaverse contest. Just know there will be 2–3 first place winners who will get a 3k Celiaverse fic of their choice. It might be expanded later on, but it would be a long one-shot. Then there would also be 2–3 second place winners who will get a 1k Celiaverse fic of their choice as well. They can either be screenshots of a verse or even scenes they desperately want to happen in a fic I’ve talked about or already posted.   
It would be split into 2-3 categories. There would be a fanart section that may be split into photo edits/moodboards and more traditional fanart or put together in one category with the second or theirs category (depending on the art one) being a writing one.   
You guys could send me things on Tumblr or post them on your own and tag me in them, if you don’t have a tumblr, my submissions is open for you guys to do so on that. Then, I would post all the pictures and fic pieces onto three separate posts on Ao3 and I would allow a vote to go on so YOU guys can choose as much as I can.   
Tell me what you think!


	59. Mya II

“I need to start training you two,” Vylarr said as Eddie was already sleeping that night. 

Arthur narrowed his eyes beside Mya. “I’m already a knight,” He said. “I should be fine. You should focus on Mya since she’s more adept at a bow and arrow than with a sword in close combat.”

It was true. While Mya had a decent handle on a sword, she was nowhere near as good as Arthur or Vylarr or Uncle Jaime. She preferred the bow and arrow, but since she didn’t have access to that, a sword would be a necessity to learn. 

Vylarr frowned. “Spar with me then, little lion,” the man said. “But not with live steel.” He found two decently sized sticks and tossed one to Arthur. “I don’t want to hurt you. Avari would box my ears.”

Mya saw Arthur frowned and she moved to sit next to Eddie. The younger boy seemed to sense her and began to scoot closer to her. 

She watched as they stood their stances and then, before Vylarr even said  _ begin _ , the older man hit Arthur in the stomach and knocked the boy down and then held the stick to Arthur’s neck 

“You’d be dead if I was an enemy and this was a real sword,” Vylarr said. 

“That’s cheating,” Arthur said. 

“In a tourney, maybe,” the older man said. “But life isn’t a tourney. All the rules you’ve learned, get them out of your head. Real battles, real fights, are dirty and you can’t always fight with honor or you’ll be dead. There’s no time for that when you have people to protect. Would you rather keep your honor or give Eddie a better chance of keeping his older brother around?”

They all glanced at the small boy and Mya’s chest twisted. She stroked the boy’s hair tenderly. 

—

Eddie slept next to Mya a few days after that instead of next to Arthur. 

“I miss Mother,” Eddie whispered softly into her collarbone. 

“I miss her too,” Mya admitted. 

“I want to go home.”

“We’re going to go see your Aunt Cat first,” Mya told him gently. “Then we’ll go back home. We might even get to see your father first too.” There had been rumors about Uncle Jaime being captured by the Northmen. “It’s going to be okay, Eddie.”

She wanted to promise him, but she was too frightened to. 

—

“We’re going to be here for a while,” Vylarr said as they stopped at a rundown inn. They were somewhere still in the crownlands. Far from the beaten track that Mya wondered if people in the town even knew that her father was dead. 

“Why?” Arthur asked. 

“Rainy season,” Vylarr answered. “It’s too dangerous with sliding mud and rocks and I don’t need any of you, especially Eddie, getting sick.”

“So, what are we going to do then?” Mya asked. 

“Wait here for better weather. I need to make a few more coins anyway.”

“How are you going to do that?” Mya wondered. 

“Keep the ruffians out of the in and Arthur and I are going to break up fights if we need to.”

“What about Eddie?” 

“That’ll be your job, Mya. Just keep him entertained, but stay out of trouble.” He handed her a small dagger. The blade itself was strange and black with silvery swirls. “Dragonglass,” he said, answering Mya’s unasked question. “It’s a decent dagger, reinforced with Valyrian steel. I got it before I left Essos. I have a sword, but you need to have something with you just in case. Every night, I’ll train both of you, okay?”

Mya nodded, gripping the hilt of her dagger tightly. 

—

“So, what brings you here?” a rather good looking dark haired boy Mya’s age asked, leaning against the inn’s wall. She had come down after putting Eddie down for a nap. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Traveling with my family to the Westerlands,” she lied. “What makes you think I’m not from around here?”

“I would remember seeing a pretty face like yours before.”

Mya blushed. She wasn’t used to people complimenting her beauty. Her father had always said she was pretty, as had Uncle Jaime and Aunt Celia, but they were adults and her family.

Arthur commented too, but… Arthur wasn’t… Arthur was the heir of Casterly Rock and she a king’s bastard. 

“I’m certain I would have remembered seeing a face like yours too,” Mya said with a smile. “Are you new as well?”

“Coming back to escape the rainy season,” he said. “Shall we pass the time away together?”

Mya blushed, but turned slightly when she heard a chair scrape abruptly against the floor. Arthur was standing and then storming off up the stairs and no doubt to their rooms. As he passed, she could see the sad look in his eyes and the blush blooming on his cheeks. 

Mya blinked and returned her gaze to the dark haired boy. “I think I’m fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter today. 
> 
> But I wonder what the importance of Mya’s dagger is? Hm 🤔


	60. Robb II

“I’ll find them, Robb,” Theon said. I promise. 

Robb could do nothing but nod. He was going to be alone amongst people who still saw him as a boy. He had to prove himself. “Just be careful, Theon. I can’t lose you too.”

Theon embraced him in a quick hug and then pulled away smirking. “As my king commands.”

Robb rolled his eyes. “Piss off.”

Theon just laughed and mounted his horse before riding off. 

Robb prayed to all the gods, both old and new, that Theon was able to do as was ordered. He prayed he was able to find the others. 

—

“What did you think,” Robb began. “When you first had to go to battle?”

His Uncle Jaime looked up at him. His uncle had grown a beard in the time he had been captured and his golden hair had turned a muddy gold and hung past his jaw. His eyes were as green as ever. 

“My first battle was after I married your aunt,” he said. “At the tail end of the rebellion. I had no real reason to live at that point, but the gods seemed to demand that I do anyway.”

Robb narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t wish to fight?”

“What man truly does? A true man prefers words over swords.”

“This coming from one of the greatest swordsmen in the realms.”

Uncle Jaime scoffed. “I was once the greatest swordsman, but then I lost my hand and I simply became adequate. People still call me such because I do know how to fight with one hand.”

“What if the Greyjoy Rebellion?”

“Ah,” his uncle said. “That I did have a reason to fight for, but I enjoyed that fight even less.”

“Why?”

“Celia and my children were there with a man notorious for not being kind to women.” Uncle Jaime tensed. “I hated fighting. It was just more time spent away from getting to them. One more day away from them, not being able to protect them.” He sighed and his body seemed to relax. “Fighting is sometimes necessary, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.” He looked to Robb with dark green eyes. “One day you’ll have a family you want to take care of, one you would risk your life for. I pray you never have to, but one day you will. I only fought for my sister now because my pregnant wife and my daughters are now trapped under my sister’s thumb. Be wary, Robb. My sister raised her son to be a vicious lion that is always hungry for more. When a lion is hungry, they eat and they won’t stop until they are full. Stay on your guard Robb. Always on your guard.”

—

Once more the Northern forces completed their assault on the Lannister encampment and won. Robb walked through the aftermath of wounded men and horses crying out amongst the dead. Roose Bolton and a handful of other Northern soldiers followed behind them. 

“Five Lannisters dead for every one of ours,” Lord Bolton said to the soldiers following them. “They're dead. Take everything they've got. We've nowhere to keep all these prisoners. Barely enough food to feed our own.”

Robb held out his hand to stop the men from moving. “We're not executing prisoners, Lord Bolton.”

The man’s smile froze on his lips. “Of course, your grace. The officers will be useful. Some of them may be privy to the Lannister Kong’s plans.”

“I doubt it,” Robb replied. If anyone was making plans it was most likely the Imp. If Tywin Lannister was making plans, he would be more careful than whatever it was these bought forces were doing. 

“Well, we'll learn soon enough,” Lord Bolton continues. “In my family, we say,  _ A naked man has few secrets. A flayed man none. _ "

Robb frowned. “My father outlawed flaying in the North.”

“We're not in the North,” Lord Bolton countered. 

“We’re not torturing our prisoners. You forget that my lady aunt and my cousins are in King’s Landing. They had no fear of taking my father’s head. I shall not give them a reason to harm the girls.”

“The high road's very pretty,” Lord Bolton warned. “But you'll have a hard time marching your army down it.”

“No, don’t!” A cry interrupted Robb’s conversation with Lord Bolton and the two turned to look and found a wounded Lannister soldier struggling as a tan woman removed his bloodied tattered pants to reveal a severely wounded leg. 

“The rot’s set in,” the woman said. 

“No, don't! No, don't!” The woman tried to calm him, but the soldier would not listen. “Please, don't! It'll get better. It doesn't even hurt.”

“The rot will spread if we don't take the foot now,” the woman cautioned. 

“No, you can't!”

Robb approached the man and withheld a wince as he saw the extent of the injuries. He knelt down and got a better hold to keep the man down while the woman worked. 

“Ser! Please, ser. I can't lose—”

“You'll die if she doesn't,” Robb cautioned. 

“I don't want to be a cripple, please!”

“My uncle would be called a cripple by most,” Robb said. “Yet he is still highly regarded.”

“Surely one of our men needs your attention more than this cub,” Lord Bolton said to the woman. 

“Your men are not my men, my lord,” she replied. 

Rob held out the rag he used to clean his sword. “Put this in your mouth and lie down. You don't want to watch.”

“No! You can't!”

“Bite on it,” Robb ordered. “It's better than biting your own tongue, believe me.”

His father always said he should look a man in the eye when they were beheaded, when it was on his own orders. So, he watched as the boy’s foot was sawed off, barely holding it in as it came off. 

—

Robb looked over and saw the healer woman from earlier readying a cart with a wounded soldier. She looked exhausted. She had been so full of resolve earlier, but she looked exhausted now, as though the events of the day had finally caught up to her. 

“What’s your name?” Robb asked as he approached her. 

“Talisa,” she replied. It was a pretty name. 

“Your house name?”

“You wish to know what side my family fights on?” She asked. 

“You know my family name,” he replied. “I find you are at an advantage over me.”

“That boy lost his foot on your orders,” she said, changing the subject. 

“They killed my father and hold my aunt and cousins hostage,” he replied. 

“That boy did?”

“The family he fights for.”

“Do you think he's friends with King Joffrey?” She reasoned. “He's a fisherman's son that grew up near Lannisport. He probably never held a spear before they shoved one in his hands a few months ago.”

“I have no hatred for the lad.”

“That should help his foot grow back,” Talisa scoffed. She began to walk away in frustration, carrying away a pail. 

“Perhaps you could see it back on. He might have lost it because of me, but you were the one to make the final cut.”

“It was unnecessary,” she continued. 

“You’d have us surrender, end all this bloodshed. I understand. The country would be at peace and life would be just under the righteous hand of good King Joffrey.”

“You're going to kill Joffrey?”

“He’s not the rightful king and he murdered my father and seeks to force my cousin to marry him. I will take his head if the gods give me strength.”

“And then what?”

“I go back home. I go back to Winterfell and try to be the man my father wanted me to be. I have no desire to sit on the Iron Throne.”

“So who will?”

“Robert Baratheon’s bastard daughter, Mya.”

“And where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re fighting to overthrow a king and yet you have no plan for after?”

“First we have to win the war.”

Still obviously frustrated at him, Talisa climbed into the horse drawn cart and signaled for the driver to start off. 

“You never told me where you're from,” he said. 

“Volantis,” she replied. 

“You’re far from home, then,” he said. “The boy was lucky you were here.”

She gave him a small smile. His heart stuttered in his chest at the sight. “He was unlucky that you were.”

Their eyes never left each other as the cart took her further away. 


	61. Celia XIX

“Avari,” Celia said. “Perhaps it would be safer for you if you and Aemon went to Casterly Rock.”

“I shall not leave you,” her friend said earnestly. “What sort of friend would I be if I left you and the children alone?”

“And what sort of friend would I be if I did not give you the freedom to go somewhere safer?” Celia countered. “You are like a sister to me and Aemon a nephew. I cannot ask you to stay here when you might be safer at Casterly. Think of you parents and how much they might worry.” She turned to her good father. “Please, convince her, my lord.”

“It would give Cersei and Joffrey less hostages,” Lord Tywin said. “However, I doubt Cersei would allow anyone close to you to return to Casterly Rock.”

“Then what shall we do?” Celia asked. “Even if we must be separate, it is safer away from King’s Landing. Stannis and Renly will come here eventually, long before Robb or any of the North and Riverland men. I doubt they would be kind to us since we plan to back Robert’s will and place Mya on the throne.”

“I don’t trust the Baratheons,” Avari said. “It was plain as day that they cared not for King Robert or else they would not have proclaimed the children as bastards. King Robert attempted to protect Joffrey, I doubt he wished the boy dead.”

“That was before he killed Med Stark,” Lord Tywin said. The Old Lion sighed. “We need to get the children out slowly. But we need to make it seem wise politically. Joffrey doesn’t listen to his mother. Tyrion, however….”

Celia chewed on her bottom lip and rubbed her belly carefully. The babe was growing restless. Soon, the child would come and Jaime would not be with her. She closed her eyes and thought. She needed to focus on the girls and Aemon. Then, an idea struck. “I shall speak with Tyrion,” Celia said. “I think… I think I have a way to get Joanna and Aemon out.”

“But not Sansa?” Lord Tywin asked. 

Celia shook her head. “Cersei has no interest in Joanna. Joffrey holds little interest as well. Tyrion however…”

Avari’s eyes widened. “You plan to use guilt?”

“I plan to do what I can to protect my pride,” Celia said. “Family comes before my duty to the king and my duty to my children comes before my honor as a person. I want my children as far away from the Hound as possible. Cersei never makes threats lightly. She is a lion in a cage, waiting for the hinges to rust.”

—

Celia was allowed to go to Maester Pycelle on her own to check on the babe and was surprised to find Petyr waiting for her along with the guards who would escort her back to her rooms. 

Petyr was the only one to know that she and Jaime and Ned were planning to leave with the children. Only him. 

“How dare you?” she hissed. 

“Your anger is misplaced, my lady.”

“Ned trusted you and you betrayed him.”

“I have betrayed no one,” he said calmly. “Cat and her second son head for the Stormlands to treat with one of the Baratheon brothers.”

Celia narrowed her eyes at him, placing a hand over her belly protectively. “And what is it to me what my sister and nephew do to secure my freedom?”

“Is there a message you wish for me to pass to them?”

Celia sneered. “My only message would be to not trust you, but I doubt you shall.”

“Come now, Celia,” he said stepping towards her. “Was I not once your favorite brother?”

“I have a brother already and I would have placed Ned and Robert above you,” she snarled. She was a Tully true, but she had borne the Lannister name long enough to be a lioness in her own right. “You are pathetic, Petyr, if you think Cat will have anything to do with you.”

“Cat has been a Stark for too long,” Petyr said with a snake-like smile. “For who is she when compared to you?” Celia’s blood turned to ice as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I remember when you used to come to me about your fears.”

Celia stepped away from him. “You forget yourself, my lord?”

“Do I? You forget that they have your husband. Shall I barter for his release?”

Unease began to swirl in her stomach and her babe began to kick wildly as though they knew something was wrong. 

“You think I could trust you with Jaime?”

“I think I would not mind if you gave me the right incentive.” He shifted and memories of the Mad King flooded her mind and she stepped away from him. 

“I would rather rot in the Seven Hells than let you near me.”

Petyr snarled. “You should think—”

“I believe my aunt made her opinions clear, Lord Baelish.” Celia turned and relief flooded back into her as Tommen came towards them, sword in its sheath, but his hand rested on it. The boy looked at the two guards. “I can escort my aunt back to her rooms,” he said. “I believe Lord Baelish must be suffering from the heat of the keep. Please escort him to his own quarters.”

“Yes, my prince,” one of the guards said before they took Petyr by the arm and turned him around to leave. 

“Are you alright, Aunt Celia?” Tommen asked. 

“Yes,” she said, smiling at him. “Now that I have such a trustworthy knight with me, I feel very much alright.”

Tommen smiled as well. “I am no knight,” he said. “At least not yet.” He offered her his arm. “Shall I escort you back?”

Celia giggled, ease coming back to her easily. “Of course,” she said, taking his arm. “I do believe I shall be the envy of all the little ladies in the keep.”

Tommen blushed. However, even so, he smiled. 

—

“You wished to see me, Celia,” Tyrion asked. 

“Yes,” she replied. “Please sit.”

Avari has taken the children to the garden. Tommen had been able to speak to Joffrey and encourage  _ good rumors  _ to spread that the Lannisters of Casterly Rock were not being treated as prisoners. This meant that Celia could meet with her good brother alone. 

“What is it you wish to speak to me of?” Tyrion asked, taking a glass of wine. “I doubt it is for a social visit.”

“I want you to convince Joffrey to send Joanna to Dorne, along with Aemon, and seal the engagement between Joanna and Trystane Martell.”

Tyrion’s eyes darkened. “You and the girls are here as prisoners.”

“Really?” Celia asked sarcastically. “I wasn’t aware.” She leaned forward. “My children are not safe here,” she said. “You know this. Cersei will not let Sansa go, but I can at least get Joanna and Aemon away from her and Joffrey’s wrath.”

“And why should I help you?” Tyrion asked, taking a sip of wine. “Why should I when you took my wife away from me?”

“Tysha was a girl who would not have survived our world, Tyrion. Do you think your father would have welcomed her with open arms? From what I know, she was a sweet girl. Would you have allowed her to be open to Cersei or even Joffrey’s derision and scorn.”

Tyrion frowned. He stood. “I wish not to speak—”

She grabbed his hand. “You  _ owe  _ me. All that ills Joanna is from her early birth. A birth you caused in your anger.” Her good brother grew pale. “Joanna is ill and she always will be. Do you think it will stop Joffrey? Did you not see Sansa’s bruise and split lip?” His face grew paler still. “Get Joanna and Aemon out of King’s Landing and that debt shall be considered repaid.”

Tyrion was quiet for a moment. “I shall see what I can do.”

—

Celia stood at the base of the statue of the Mother and began to light a candle for all the children in her family, even Joffrey. 

She lit one for Joffrey and prayed that he might see reason. 

She lit one for Myrcella and prayed for the girl’s gentleness and that she be protected. 

She lit one for Tommen and prayed that the boy would never lose his goodness. 

She lit one for Robb and prayed for the decisions he would have to make. 

She lit one for Jon and prayed that he might be brave when he has to. 

She lit one for Arya and prayed that the girl would not run head-long into trouble. 

She lit one for Bran and prayed that he was safe at the Wall and had made some friends that might be there for him. 

She lit one for Rickon and prayed that he might be safe and not have to grow up too quickly. 

She lit one for Lyanna and prayed that the little girl would be safe from the horrors of war. 

She lit one for Mya and prayed that the girl would be strong like her king father. 

She lit one for Joy and prayed that the girl did not lose her kindness. 

She lit one for Aemon and prayed that the boy would be overlooked in all the turmoil. 

She lit one for Arthur and prayed that he would be strong regardless of what was to come. 

She lit one for Sansa and prayed that none would harm her and that Celia’s own experiences in King’s Landing would not be repeated. 

She lit one for Joanna and prayed for her daughter’s health. 

She lit one for Eddie—

A tremor shook through her body and the match fell to the ground as her thighs grew wet. 

No no no. It was too early.

Celia slid down and cradled her belly. 

“Help!” she cried. “Someone help me!”

She heard the sound of footfalls. 

“Help me!”


	62. Eddie I

“Is Mya going to get married?” Eddie asked, tugging on his brother’s sleeve. 

“Why do you ask that?” Arthur said, not looking at him. He was, instead, glancing at where Mya was, speaking to a boy manning a stall. 

“Sansa and Joanna are getting married.”

“No,” his brother said. “Mother and father talked of betrothing them. They wouldn’t get married until they were—”

“Mya’s age?”

His brother’s lips formed a thin line. “I suppose.”

“So is Mya getting married?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “It’s up to her I suppose. Although I think she has to get Father’s permission.”

Eddie missed his parents. “You should marry Mya,” he announced. “That way, she can be my big sister for real.”

Arthur smiled and mussed up Eddie’s hair. “It’s up to Mya, I suppose.”

Eddie frowned. Wouldn’t it be up to Arthur too? Big kids were weird. 

—

Eddie watched as his brother and Mya trained with Vylarr. He had wanted to learn too, but Vylarr insisted the best he could do was run away as fast as he could and climb a tree. The older knight watched over Eddie as he practiced his climbing. Eddie had gotten quite good. 

Mya was doing really well in learning too. She wasn’t as good as Arthur or Vylarr, but she was doing better than Sansa or Joanna or Joy would have. 

—

Eddie dreamed of his parents. He dreamed of his mother and father. He dreamed of a time when he was sick and his mother laid in bed with him, letting him snuggle into her arms and his nose buried into her so he could smell the sweetness of her perfume. His father tucked them both in and kissed Eddie’s head tenderly. 

He woke up crying and it took both Arthur and Mya cuddling around him for Eddie to fall back asleep again. 

—

There was a bridge that went over the river and Eddie sat between his brother and Mya as they fished. Vylarr had given him a little rod as well. It had just a bit of worm on it so as not to encourage many fish, but it made Eddie feel useful.

Arthur began singing under his breath and Eddie smiled. Most of the Lannister children could sing save for Mya. Their father could carry a slight tune when he hummed, but he never really sang. Arthur’s voice reminded Eddie of their mother. 

“ _ For she was his secret treasure _

_ She was his shame and his bliss _

_ And a chain and a keep are nothing _

_ Compared to a woman's kiss _

_ For hands of gold are always cold _

_ But a woman's hands are warm _

_ For hands of gold are always cold _

_ But a woman's hands are warm.” _

Something tugged on Eddie’s rod then. “I caught something!” he squealed as he began to pull, not expecting much resistance. However, something tugged harder on his rod and he held on tightly, just as Arthur had shown him. “Oh!”

He fell forward into the running river. 

“Eddie!” His brother screamed. 

Eddie began to move his arms frantically as he tried to keep his head above water. “Help!” He screamed. “Help!”

He was plunged under the water with little breath and water began to fill his lungs. They began to burn as he choked for air. His head hit something and everything went black. 


	63. Tommen I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of child death.

Tommen sat next to his cousin Joanna, holding her hand as she looked ready to faint. His Aunt Celia had been carried from the sept to the maester’s chambers by a septon who had come upon her during her prayers. She had gone into labor early and she had been bleeding. 

Tommen’s grandfather would occasionally sit and then stand to pace the room before sitting again. Lady Avari was in the room with Aunt Celia and Aemon was sitting next to Sansa, his face pressed against her arm. Sansa had her hands clasped and her eyes closed as she mouthed a prayer. Joanna was holding back tears and Tommen moved to put his arm around her, telling her it was going to be okay. 

He could hear Aunt Celia crying out in pain and her moans through the door as the maester’s calm tones tried to help her relax. 

Tommen prayed that all would be okay. 

Although he could see the displeasure in his mother’s gaze when he announced that he would sit with his cousins as they waited for Aunt Celia and the baby, he had not cared. Myrcella has been forbidden to come and she had tearfully asked him to look after their cousins since Uncle Jaime were away. 

Tommen knew that their grandfather would be a great support. Joffrey did not care about their uncle’s family and Uncle Jaime and Arthur, even Eddie, were gone. It was Tommen’s duty to look after the Lannisters of Casterly Rock while his uncle and older cousin were away. 

—

Tommen has heard the whispers of his Uncle Jaime being his and his siblings’ sire. He always knew that he and Joffrey looked like Arthur and their uncle, but he had never thought much of it. He had his father, the king’s, smile and had mostly the same temperament, although he didn’t care much for hunting. 

While Tommen loved his Uncle Jaime, Robert Baratheon was his father in the ways that mattered. His father had loved and raised him. His father had loved him despite the possible truth. 

Tommen was his father’s son and that meant he needed to take care of his family, for better or for worse. 

—

Tommen could remember when Eddie was born. He had begged his father to let him visit Casterly Rock so he could train with his uncle for a month, although it was less training and more having fun with his cousins and working on his languages with Sansa and Lady Avari. 

He remembered Uncle Jaime pacing the floor as he waited for Aunt Celia. He had wanted to be inside, but she had ordered him to look after the children and that she had been in no mood for him to be fretting over her. 

Tommen remembered asking his uncle why he was so nervous about Aunt Celia and the baby since his wife had given birth three times before. 

“I had a septa once day that, when a baby comes, it means that someone else has died.” His uncle just shook his head. “I know it is just an old wives tale, but I worry nonetheless.”

“Because of Grandmother and Uncle Tyrion?” Tommen asked. 

His uncle nodded. “I suppose so.”

—

Suddenly, everything became silent. 

The silence was deafening and they all stood. 

Then, a choked cry came from the room followed by a wailing scream. 

Sansa passed Aemon to Joanna before rushing off to be by her mother just as Maester Pycelle stepped from the room, his clothes bloodied. 

“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, addressing Tommen’s grandfather. “There were complications. The babe… The babe was not breathing when he was born. I tried to revive him, but… I’m sorry for your loss, my lord.”

Joanna began to sob and Tommen held her gently in his arms as tears began to slide down his cheeks as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did almost kill Eddie, but decided against it so Celia and Jaime don’t have to deal with that later. However, that meant the new baby had to die instead. 
> 
> Also, after Saturday, I’m taking one week off from writing because my supervisor scheduled me for too many hours next week and I’m going to be utterly exhausted. I might change up the writing schedule for my fics since I’ve been under too much stress lately (I work at a grocery store). Thank you for understanding!


	64. Jaime XIX

Jaime awoke with a start. 

He felt something ripping from his chest at a sort of falling sensation. Something felt wrong. Very very wrong. 

—

“Uncle…”

Jaime looked up and found Robb looking down at him, his face pale and the rims of his eyes red from crying. “What is it?”

His nephew opened and closed his mouth a few times before he spoke. “We got word from the Red Keep. I’m sorry, the baby was stillborn.”

Jaime stared up at his nephew as his words began to click into place. Tears began to catch on his lashes before they slid down his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” Robb repeated quietly. 

Jaime lowered his head and screamed as tears began to flood his vision. He should have been with her. He should have been with her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m super sorry this is the last chapter before my week break, I worked 10 hours yesterday and am utterly exhausted. I’m bruised all over. 
> 
> I’ll take prompts throughout the week to give a bit of entertainment.


	65. Joy III

Gendry kept his word to look after Joy and Arya as they headed towards Harrenhal. She sometimes awoke to being curled into Gendry’s side, the boy radiating heat that was a comfort on the cold nights when they were allowed to sleep. Arya was curled next to him on his other side as well and Joy forced herself to not think anything of it. 

No matter how much she wanted to. 

Joy was a bastard. A bastard who was treated well, yes, but a bastard nonetheless. 

Her and Gendry’s priority needed to be Arya. It had to be Arya. If she didn’t make it out, then Lord Stark’s death would have been for not. 

Even so, there was something about Gendry’s arm around her ever so slightly…

It made her think, for even a moment, of a faint memory of who she guessed was her father holding her mother and an even clearer one of her Uncle Jaime wrapping his arm around her Aunt Celia as she fell asleep in the gardens of Casterly Rock next to him. But even those thoughts she was forced to push away. 

She was a bastard and it was no time to think of such trivial things when there was a much prettier girl with dark hair and stormy eyes close by. A girl who was wild and free and trueborn. 

“Why do you suppose they’re taking us to Harrenhal?” Hot Pie asked as they continued their trek. 

“It’s a good keep,” Joy said softly. “Despite its decay. Whoever is lord of it would have a good amount of power. It’s probably a base of some kind.”

“Who’d it belong to before?” Gendry asked. 

“The Whents,” Arya said. “It’s also the keep where Prince Rhaegar met Au—Lady Lyanna. The end of the Targaryen dynasty started there.”

“You’re both strange,” Hot Pie muttered. “Why’d you go learn about stuff like that?”

Joy shrugged. “Because I could, I guess.”

“Well, it’s useless.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Gendry said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “He’s just jealous.”

Joy blushed and looked over to Arya and saw the other girl glaring just a tiny bit, but enough for Joy to shrug Gendry’s hand off and nodd.

That night, she had a nightmare of blood and fire and crying children. 

She awoke to Gendry’s arms wrapped tenderly around her as he whispered sweet words to her, telling her that everything was alright. She didn’t glance at Arya once as Gendry soothed her. 

Once that night was over, she would stop accepting Gendry’s kindness. They needed to focus on Arya. 

Joy wasn’t important enough to warrant concern. 

They needed to focus on Arya. 

—

They were all chained and put into a pin like cattle awaiting the slaughter. There were tortured screams in the distance as everyone was quiet and breathless and trembling. 

“Please,” a man screamed in the distance. “Please! No, no! No!”

There was a slide of chains, then a thud and the screaming was done. Joy, forgetting herself, pressed her face into Gendry’s side, not wanting to listen at all. Wanting to block it all out. Wanting to disappear into Gendry’s warmth. 

“He’s dead,” an older woman whispered, her voice a hollow whisper. There had been more than simply men off to the Night Watch in the pin, there were smallfolk too. “He was my son,” she said the word with so much longing and broken hope. “My sister was three days ago. My husband, the day before.”

Gendry’s arm tightened around her. “They take someone every day?” he asked, his voice rumbling and Joy could feel it against her cheek pressed against him. She closed her eyes, pressing her face more firmly against his chest. 

There was no verbal answer from the woman. 

“Does anyone live?” Arya asked

The woman did not answer. Gendry’s hand was on Joy’s back and she took as much comfort in it as she could before slowly pushing herself away. 

—

Joy listened but did not look as the soldier knocked a severed head onto one of the many spikes surrounding the pin. They were all quiet, only the Night Watch recruits were left, still chained and waiting like cattle. 

Joy shuddered at the memory of the other man being tortured, the rat digging into his chest as he screamed. 

Amory Lorch came forward, looking out at all of them. “You.”

Gendry glanced at Arya and Joy in panic as soldiers grabbed Gendry and dragged him out of the pin. Arya stepped forward, but Gendry shook his head and Joy held the Stark girl’s wrist tightly. 

“Is there gold or silver in the village?” the torturer asked. Hot Pie and called him the Tickler, but Joy shuddered at the sound of it. The man was sitting down, as though what he was doing wasn’t worth the time or energy to stand. His body language screamed that he was bored. 

“I’m not from the village,” Gendry replied. 

“Where is the Brotherhood?” the Tickler sighed. 

“I don’t know what that is,” Gendry answered. 

Gendry’s chin was lifted in assured pride as the soldiers went and grabbed a rat and the bucket, strapping it to Gendry’s chest. He glanced at Arya briefly before turning his attention forward. 

Suddenly, the gates opened and the sound of horses entered the courtyard. To Joy’s astonishment, Tyrion Lannister was sitting atop one of the horses, flanked by goldcloaks. He looked about in disappointment before dismounting with a bit of help. 

“You two,” one of the goldcloaks said to the soldiers. “Take Lord Lannister’s things to his quarters.”

“What is this?” Uncle Tyrion asked, inspecting the prisoners and their conditions. 

“We weren’t expecting you till tomorrow, Lord Tyrion,” Amory Lorch said. 

“Obviously,” The Lannister man said. “However, my sweet sister decided to send me away for a bit. I suppose she didn’t want our dear good sister to use her pregnancy against me.”

Joy glanced up. Had Aunt Celia had her baby yet? Was the baby okay?

“Why are these prisoners not in their cells?” Uncle Tyrion asked, disrupting Joy’s thoughts. 

“Cells are overflowing, my lord,” Ser Amory said. 

“This lot won't be here long,” the knight who had Needle said. “Don't need no permanent place. After we interrogate 'em, we usually just—”

“Are we so well-manned that we can afford to discard able bodied men and skilled laborers, or do you just enjoy adding more work for yourself?” When no one answered, Tyrion continued to glance around before his gaze rested on Gendry. “You, do you have a trade?”

Joy carefully moved Arya behind Hot Pie and herself. The fat boy glanced at Joy curiously but She shook her head carefully, sliding her finger across her throat slowly so as to not be noticed. Hot Pie had been a little more protective of her and Arya since Lomny died. He’d look after Arya too. 

“Smith, my lord,” Gendry replied, not looking at the rest of them. 

Joy kept an eye on her Uncle Tyrion, unsure of what he would do. 

The knight with Needle, Polliver, Joy thought his name was, noticed. He drew his sword and held it to her throat. “What are you looking at? Kneel! Kneel or I'll carve your lungs out, boy.”

“Leave him alone!” Gendry shouted, fighting against his bonds. 

“He’ll do no such thing,” Lord Tyrion said, stepping forward. “This ones a girl, you idiot, dressed as a boy.” He eyed her carefully, his eyes roaming over her body. “I suppose I am the only one pleased to see you, sweet cousin.”

Joy flinched and she could hear Arya take in a sharp breath. She gave a curtsy on instinct. “Uncle Tyrion.”

“Tell me, sweet cousin, where are my nephews and the Stark girl?”

Joy shook her head quickly. “We got separated in the crowd,” she said, taking a shuddering breath. “Gendry helped me get out before I was crushed. I… I was going to try and head North to where Aunt Celia’s nephews were.”

At the mention of Gendry, Lord Tyrion’s eyes slid to the named boy who struggled still against his restraints, glaring at the Lannister man. 

Uncle Tyrion sighed. “Lucky for you, my dear sister could care less about you.” He waved his hand. “Let her go,” he said. “I’m in need of someone to serve me since I wasn’t able to bring my companion from the Red Keep.”

Gendry fought harder still. 

“Be still boy,” he glanced at Joy again. “I’m uninterested in a bastard girl who gives me nothing.”

—

Joy was given a dress, a dirty red one, but that was all that changed. She still wore trousers underneath them. She flinched at Lord Tyrion’s gaze, no longer under the protection of her Uncle Jaime.

She stuck close to Gendry and Arya and Hot Pie stayed close as well. They had to quietly explain to Hot Pie what was going on, but the boy had it partially figured out pretty quickly. He promised to keep things quiet as long as he got out whenever they managed to, if they ever managed to. 

Gendry was making a sword, his shirt gone and Joy felt as though she were overheating. She wasn’t trying to look, but her gaze went to his stomach and she just felt more hot than ever. She’d seen Arthur, Tommen, and Eddie and even her Uncle Jaime without a shirt on, but this definitely wasn’t the same. 

Arya was less discreet about her glances, but she had a mask of uninterest. That, of course, could be due to her growing up with so many boys. 

Gendry cooled the tip of the sword in water before lifting the blade and hitting the side of the forge lightly. 

“You should stand sideface,” Arya said.

“Sideface?” Gendry asked. 

Arya sighed. “Sideways.”

“Why?”

“It makes you a smaller target,” Joy replied. 

Gendry looked about himself dramatically. “Am I fighting someone?”

“You're practicing for a fight,” Arya said. “You should practice right.”

There was a loud thud and a woman screamed. The three of them rushed over to see what had happened and found a prone body on the ground. 

“Guards!” a goldcloak shouted. “Did you see anything? Go up there. Go and see where he fell from.”

Joy gasped as she looked upon the Tickler’s twisted body. She buried her face in her hands and Gendry turned her to face him, letting her lean into him as the image of the mangled body burned behind her eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion isn’t the best person in the world in this. He’s a mix of his book and show counterparts.   
Some of the slight romantic rivalry between Joy and Arya when it comes to Gendry, although Joy is thinking more of Arya’s safety than anything. 
> 
> The Celiaverse contest bid now open! Find the rules [HERE](https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/615380999853981696/i-have-finally-come-out-with-the-rules-for-the) ! We have a couple entries already! 
> 
> I also have a new posting schedule [HERE](https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/615754777656197120/okay-new-release-schedule-for-the)


	66. Arthur III

Arthur and Vylarr had both jumped into the water after Eddie. Mya had run screaming back to the village for a maester or someone who knew anything about healing. 

Arthur has been the one to grab Eddie by the arm and pull him above the water. Vylarr went to them both and helped the boys get to the edge of the river. The older man laid Eddie out on the ground and began to get the water out of the boy’s lungs. However, after Eddie coughed out the water, he didn’t wake up. 

Now, they were just waiting. It had been two days since Eddie had fallen into the river. Mya fed him broth and water and they all took turns looking after Arthur’s brother. However, Arthur never left his brother’s side. Mya or Vylarr just took turns sitting with him. 

Although Vylarr was the one in charge of looking after them, deep down, Arthur knew that Eddie was his responsibility. His little brother. His brother who was still just a kid and didn’t really understand what was going on. His baby brother. It was his job to look after him and look at what happened. 

Eddie could have died and it would have been all Arthur’s fault. 

It didn’t matter what Mya or Vylarr said. It didn’t matter what his parents would probably say. It was Arthur’s fault. His. Only his. 

He buried his face in his hands, guilt clawing at his chest and stomach, the scar across his body stung ever so slightly. 

“Mother?” 

Arthur’s head shot up and saw his brother slowly blinking himself awake. He stood up and leaned over his brother. “Eddie? Are you alright?”

Eddie blinked again. “Arthur?”

“Hey, Eddie,” he replied gently, stroking his brother’s hair. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

“I dreamed of Mother, Arthur,” his brother said. 

Arthur bent down and kissed Eddie on the forehead. “We’ll see her again soon, I promise. Now, can you get up for me Eddie, and show Vylarr and Mya that you’re okay?”

His little brother nodded and pushed himself up and then paused. “Arthur?”

“Yeah, Eddie?”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

—

Arthur and Mya sat outside the room where Vylarr and the town’s maester were discussing Eddie’s inability to walk. 

“It’s my fault,” Arthur whispered. 

“It’s not, Arthur,” Mya said gently, putting her hand on his back. “It’s not.”

“I should have been keeping a better eye on him. I shouldn’t have let him have a rod. I should have had a hand on him at all times. My baby brother can’t walk and it’s all my fault.”

“Don’t you dare, Arthur Lannister,” Mya said. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for something you had no control over.”

“He’s my responsibility,” Arthur reasoned. “I should have been the one looking after him. It’s my fault that he got hurt.”

“Stop blaming yourself.”

“Then who else can I blame?!”

Mya’s lips formed a tight line. “It’s not your fault.”

“Why do you keep saying that?!”

Her lips were a flutter against his and Arthur’s eyes widened. “Because you would never hurt your family. That’s why.” She pulled back further, her cheeks stained red. “Excuse me.”

“Mya—”

She stood and shook her head. “I better check on the kitchens. The cook said he’d make more broth for Eddie.” 

Mya scurried down the hall and down the stairs, leaving Arthur in shock. 

—

“We’re going to have to stay in the town a little longer,” Vylarr said grimly. 

“Will we be safe?” Mya asked. 

“We should,” the older man nodded. “We just need to stay a little longer so Eddie can get better. 

Arthur looked down at his lap. It was going to be hard traveling with Eddie in his current state. They needed to be careful. Arthur wished they could just go home to Casterly Rock. Their grandfather could fix everything. He wished none of this had ever happened. 

—

“So, you and your family are staying here for a bit longer?” One of the village girls, Arthur didn’t know her name, asked. She had golden hair and grey eyes. She was pretty, but not as pretty as Mya. 

“Yeah,” Arthur replied. “We’re going to wait and see if my brother gets better.”

The girl tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned towards Arthur, batting her lashes at him. “If you need a good time while you wait, I can show you.”

Arthur’s cheeks burned. “Oh… Um…”

Mya, who had come out of nowhere, knocked into the girl’s shoulder, causing her to faceplant into Arthur’s chest. “Oops,” Mya said. “Sorry.” She then glared at Arthur before storming away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so late!
> 
> And Mya’s getting jealous!
> 
> Remember to check out the Celiaverse contest!


	67. Bran I

The door was kicked in and Craster threw Bran through it and onto the ground. 

“Out!” the horrible man yelled. “All of you!” The Lord Commander and the rest of the Night Watch’s party leapt to their feet as Craster’s wives and daughters peered at the scene with a quiet worry. “This boy’s been meddling where he shouldn’t.” He kicked Bran in the stomach and all air left him, his lungs burning as he had tried to get breath after his beating. Craster pointed at the Lord Commander and the old man sheathed his sword.”I want you and your men gone. And you will make this right.”

Bran coughed out a mouthful of blood.

“Wait outside,” Commander Mormont said.

“Lord Commander—” Bran began.

“Now!”

Bran made his way out of Craster’s tent and out of the camp. He came upon Sam, who had been speaking with Gilly, and his friend helped him and began to tend to his wounds as soon as they sat down. They were both silent, neither needing to speak to one another. It’s part of why he enjoyed Sam’s presence. Edd and the others tended to enjoy talking loudly when they could, but Sam could be quiet and when he did speak it was usually about books and Bran quite preferred such conversation. 

After a few long minutes, Lord Commander Mormont strode towards them. 

Sam bowed his head. “Lord Commander—”

The older man waved his hand. “Leave us.”

Sam glanced at Bran who simply nodded. The other boy left and Bran looked up at the Lord Commander calmly. Surely if he just understood…

“What did you do?” his commander demanded. 

“I followed him. He took the baby into the woods, the newborn,” Bran said. He could still hear the baby crying, still new to the world and expecting attention from those who should have loved him. 

“What business is that of yours?”

“No,” Bran shook his head. “You don’t understand. He’s killing them, all the boys…” He looked up and saw Lord Mormont staring back at him as though this wasn’t news. Bran’s eyes widened. “You know.”

“Wildings serve crueler gods than you or I,” the older man said. “Those boys are Craster’s offerings.”

“Offerings?” Bran had to hold in his anger. “He’s murdering his own children!” He could still hear the cries of his aunt as she held her stillborn son. He could still hear his uncle’s roaring pain at the news. “He’s a monster.”

“Aye, many a time that monster has been the difference between life and death for our rangers, your uncle among them. We have other wars to fight out there. Like it or not we need men like Craster.”

“Or the Wildlings won’t work with us because even they have more care for children than a bunch of men who have made vows to take no wives and sire no children.”

Lord Commander Mormont’s face darkened as though haunted. 

Bran then realized his mistake. “I’m sorry, my lord, I—”

“It is not your place to question me, Bran.”

The young boy looked down. “I… I saw it. I saw something take that child.”

The commander nodded. “Aye. Whatever it was, I daresay you’ll see it again. Now, ready my horse. We leave at dawn.” He handed Bran his sword. “Don’t lose it again.”

Bran watched as the Lord Commander walked away. A raven began to screech and Bran winced.

North. He was supposed to head further North. 

—

Bran rested on the ground as it was not yet his turn to keep watch. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to dream. The last time he dreamed it was the death of his little cousin, taking the place of Eddie who would never walk again. Eddie. The gods had chosen him to live when the other boy had a future as well. He was unsure of what to make of it. 

He was not upset that Eddie lived, he breathed a sigh of relief for it. However, he could not figure what Eddie’s place was in this song. He could not figure it.

—

They began to set up camp as a few brothers stood guard. They had made camp on a snowy cliffside. 

“About time you did something,” one of the older members said to Bran and the other newer members. “At least you’ll keep warm.”

“The Fist of the First Men,” Sam wondered. “Think of how old this place is. “Before the Targaryens defeated the Andals, before the Andals took Westeros from the First Men.”

Bran chuckled. 

“Before I die,” Edd begged. “Please, stop talking.”

“Thousands and thousands of years ago,” Sam continued. “The First Men stood here where we’re standing all through the long night. What do you think they were like, the First Men?”

“Stupid,” Edd said, frustrated. “Smart people don’t find themselves in places like this.”

Grenn and Satin laughed. 

“I think they were afraid,” Bran said. “I think they came here to get away from something and I don’t think it worked.” In fact, he knew it didn’t.

A horn sounded, and they all paused from their labor to see what was going on. 

“Wildlings?” Grenn asked.

“One blast is for rangers returning, Bran said. “Wildlings is two blasts.” He personally thought it should be the other way around, but no one asked him. 

“So you got to stand there waiting and wondering,” Edd said. “One blast for friends, two for foes.” The other man rolled his eyes. 

“And three for White Walkers,” Satin added smuggly, looking expectantly at Sam.

“It’s been a thousand years,” Sam perked up. “But that’s the only time they blow the horn three times.”

“If it’s been a thousand years, how do you know?” Grenn asked.

“Well,” Sam said. “I read it in a book.”

“_ I read it in a book, _” Edd mimicked before he, Grenn, and Satin left. 

—

A storm howled as the Knight’s Watchmen persevered forward. 

“There,” Qhorin Halfhand said. 

“Where?” Lord Commander Mormont asked. 

“On that mountain,” the Ranger said. 

“I don’t see very well,” Sam muttered. 

“It’s because you read in the dark,” Bran said before narrowing his eyes towards the mountain. “A fire.”

“There’s a fire,” Qhorin said. “The people sitting around it have better eyes than yours or mine. When they see us coming, that fire becomes a signal. Gives Mance Rayder plenty of time to throw a party in our honor.”

“How many Wildings have joined him?” the Lord Commander asked. 

“From what we can tell, all of them,” Qhorin said. “Mance has gathered them all like deer against the wolves. They're almost ready to make their move.”

“Where?” Bran asked.

“Somewhere safe,” the ranger said. “Somewhere south. Can't just march into their midst. And we can't wait for them here with nothing but a pile of stones to protect us.”

“You saying we should fall back to the Wall?” Mormont asked.

“Mance was one of us once,” Qhorin said. “Now he's one of them. He's going to teach them our way of doing things. They'll hit us in force and they won't run away when we hit back. They're gonna be more organized than before, more disciplined, more like us. So we need to be more like them, do things their way. Sneak in, kill Mance, and scatter them to the winds before they can march on the Wall. And to do that…”

“We need to get rid of those lookouts,” the Lord Commander finished. 

“It's not a job for 400 men,” Qhorin said. “I need to move fast and silent. Harker, Stonesnake, Borba.”

“I’d like to join Lord Qhorin as well, Lord Commander,” Bran said. 

The ranger looked at him warily. “I've been called lots of things, but that might be my first Lord Qhorin. You're a steward, Stark, not a ranger.”

“I’ve fought and killed a wight,” Bran said. “How many rangers can say that?”

“He’s the one?” Qhorin asked the Lord Commander.

“Aye,” the older man sighed. “You killed a wight. You also let an old man beat you bloody and take your sword.” 

“Craster?” Qhorin asked. “In the boy’s defense, that’s a tough old goat.”  
“I could take up Bran’s duties while he’s gone, my lord,” Sam said. “It would be no trouble.”

“I can help,” Satin offered.

“Well,” Lord Mormont said with a sigh. “I hope you make a better ranger than you do a steward. Go on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a peak at where Bran is in this story.


	68. Catelyn I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 2,222 words long. Lol
> 
> HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

Jon looked so much like his father. He always had. In her moments of lost memory, Old Nan would call Catelyn’s second oldest Ned. Jon always did his best to humor the older woman, pressing a kiss to her cheek as Ned did and asking her to tell him what had happened in Winterfell since he had been living in the Vale. 

It struck Catelyn even more so now, she could see the subtle differences still, his eyes were shaped like hers and his nose was more like Brandon’s than Ned’s. However, now that she knew she would never see her Ned again, nevermore have him smile and kiss her sweetly as he laid with her in their bed. She saw bits of Ned in Robb and knew there were bits of him in their other children, but none more so than Jon. 

“Are you alright, Mother?” Jon asked, coming up beside her on his horse. 

She smiled at him gently. “I’m fine, sweet boy,” she said. “I am merely thinking of your father.”

His smile faltered slightly. “We will avenge him, Mother. I promise.” 

She wanted to tell him he did not need to, tell him that all she wanted was for him to live long and well and to get her sister and her nieces and nephews back, but the words were caught in her throat. 

—

Catelyn and Jon followed Ser Colen as the man made his way across the sand towards where Renly Baratheon and his wife, Margaery Tyrell were seated. She was still a little shocked at the fact that a woman had been assigned to Renly’s guard, but she could not argue that the tall girl seemed adept for the task. Catelyn had heard the name before. He believed Celia had spoken of the girl as a possible match for Arthur. Margaery Tyrell had also been named, but it was obvious that the girl’s family preferred power, or possible power in this case, than steady alliances. 

“Your grace,” Ser Colen said with a bow. “I have the honor to bring you Lady Catelyn Stark and her son Lord Jon Stark, sent as enboys by Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell.”

Catelyn stiffened. “Jon is the Lord of Winterfell,” she corrected. “My eldest, Robb, is King in the North.”

Renly Baratheon smiled, but ignored her insistence on the proper titles. “Lady Catelyn,” he said. “I am pleased to see you and your son. May I present my wife, Margaery of House Tyrell?”

The girl was beautiful and sweet, but nowhere near as pretty as Catelyn’s daughters or nieces. “You are very welcome here, Lady Stark,” the girl said sweetly and with every ounce of decorum. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

Catelyn gave the girl a tight, although genuine, smile. “You are most kind.”

Renly bowed his head. “My lady, I swear to you I will see the Lannisters answer for your husband’s murder. When I take King’s Landing, I’ll bring you Joffrey’s head.” 

His men began to roar and cheer at their king’s proclamation. Catelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she found it in herself to continue. 

“It will be enough to know that justice was done, my lord,” she replied, choosing his lesser title since he had ignored Robb’s. “However, I ask that you remember that my sister and her children are also Lannisters. They are being held hostage by the boy king and his mother. My sister has also lost a child now due to the stress of the situation. If you wish to know the advice of your elders, my lord, I will remind you of the blunder Lord Tywin caused with the deaths of Princess Elia and her children. In your hopes to make things right, I hope you do not make more enemies than you need to.”

The crowd quieted and Renly’s smile faltered for a moment, although his wife’s disappeared completely. Good. They must remember not all who bore the name Lannister were evil. 

A cough came from Ser Loras Tyrell. “Has your son marched against Tywin Lannister yet?”

“My mother does not sit on my brother’s war councils,” Jon said. “Although I do, I would not share our strategies with you.”

Ser Loras pursed his lips. “If Robb Stark wants a pact with us, he should come himself and not hide behind his mother’s skirts or let his brother speak for him.”

“My brother is fighting a war, ser,” Jon said. “Forgive me, we are not playing one while holding a tourney.” 

Renly chuckled and stood, leaving his diss to walk to Catelyn and her son. “Don’t worry, my lord,” he said. “Our war is just beginning.”

Catelyn held back a frown. Both Baratheon brothers had left the Red Keep long before Ned had been executed and had yet to fight a true battle while her son had fought countless and won. 

—

Catelyn was sitting in her tent as Jon was out walking the camp to blow off some slight steam. Her tent flap opened and she stood, assuming it was her son, only to find Petyr Baelish standing before her. 

Anger boiled in her belly as she saw the man she once called a friend and a brother. A man she had asked to look after Celia whenever she was in the capital. Look after the children too and now—

“How dare you?” she growled. 

He held up his hand, always playing his little games. “You may have heard false reports.”

“You were to look after them. You betrayed Celia and her family. You betrayed Ned.”

“Betrayed?” Petyr looked insulted. “I wanted him to serve as Protector of the Realm. I begged him to seize the moment.”

“You have repaid my family’s trust with treachery,” she spat. 

“No, my lady,” he tried to reason. 

“Get out!” She shouted, turning from him. 

“Cat,” he tried to reason, taking her by the arm. “I've loved you since I was a boy. It seems to me that fate has given us this chance.”

Catelyn turned, yanking her arm from his grip and drew a knife Ned had given her once years ago, causing Petyr to pause, thinking. “Have you lost your mind?” she asked. “Get out!”

“Do you want to see your sister again? Your nieces and nephews? Arya?”

Catelyn tightened her hand on the daggers hilt. A lie. She trusted Jaime more than she did Petyr. She trusted Jaime with her children and her precious little sister than she would ever trust Petyr again. 

“You have Arya?” He had no mark on his face, so she doubted it.

“All healthy and safe save for Celia’s sweet babe,” he said. “But you know the queen and you know Joffrey. I fear for their longevity should they remain in the capital for longer.”

She kept her dagger raised, but not as high as before. 

“What do you want?”

“The Lannisters will trade the children for the Kingslayer.”

Catelyn scoffed. “Of course they will. Jaime Lannister for children? Robb will never agree to those terms.”

“I'm not bringing these terms to him,” Petyr said. “I'm bringing them to you.”

“You think I keep secrets from my son?”

“Robb and Jon both have surprised them all with their skills in battle, but they are not a mother. Celia would want you to get her children out of King’s Landing.” He paused. “Consider it, Cat. You may not get another chance,” he said, stepping back. “I've brought you a gift.”

“I don’t want your gifts,” she spat. “A token of whichever of the queen’s pockets you cling to. Or is it from Tyrion Lannister? Does he regret what he did to my sister? Joanna? He cannot buy my good will the same way he buys your whores.” She thought of little Tysha and the little dark haired green eyed girl that looked after Lyanna. She turned away from him, not wanting to look at him. 

“He wants you to understand that this exchange of prisoners is offered in good faith,” Petyr said, motioning for two silent sisters to enter. 

Catelyn sneered. “Good faith?” Her breath caught in her throat as she turned and the two women bowed to her and she looked at the chest laid out at her feet. “What is this?” 

Petyr was quiet as Catelyn knelt down before the chest and slowly opened it. She closed her eyes and tried to not let the emotion… tried not to…

“Your husband was an honorable man,” Petyr said. “He should rest beside his family in the crypts beneath Winterfell. You may not believe—”

“Get out,” Catelyn whispered. 

He left her and just as he did so, Jon came to her tent. 

“Mother?”

She closed the lid as she tried so desperately to hold it in, to be strong for her son. Strong—

Jon, sweet Jon, knelt beside her and wrapped his arms around her. “Robb’s not here, Mother. It’s… it’s okay to cry. Father said it was always okay to cry.”

Catelyn closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around Jon and let the steady tears fall. 

—

Catelyn and Jon sat astride their horses on a cliffside next to the sea as a strong wind blew. They were with Lord Renly, Ser Loras and Lady Brienne. Beside him was Lord Stannis Baratheon, Ser Davos, and a mysterious woman dressed all in red. 

“Lady Stark,” the oldest of the surviving Baratheon brothers said, nodding his head to her. “I had not thought to find you in the Stormlands.” He glanced at Jon. “Nor your second eldest.”

“We had not thought to be here, Lord Stannis,” she said. “However, I have word that would be an interest to both of you and my son thought it wise to send a representative from one king who holds no interest in the South to those who seek the Iron Throne.”

The older Baratheon looked at her curiously, but could say nothing as Renly spoke then. 

“Can that truly be you?”

Stannis blinked. “Who else might it be?”

“When I saw your standard, I couldn’t be sure. Whose banner is that?” Renly asked.

“My own,” Stannis replied. 

“I suppose if we used the same one, the battle would be terribly confusing,” the younger man smirked. “Why is your stag on fire?”

“The king has taken for his sigil the fiery heart of the Lord of Light,” the red woman said. 

“Ah,” Lord Renly said. “You must be this fire priestess we hear so much about. Mmm, brother, now I understand why you found religion in your old age.”

Stannis scowled. “Watch yourself, Renly.” 

“No, no, I'm relieved,” the young man said, brushing off his older brother’s ire. “I never really believed you were a fanatic. Charmless, rigid, a bore, yes, but not a godly man.”

“You should kneel before your brother,” the red priestess said. “He's the Lord's chosen, born amidst salt and smoke.”

“Born amidst salt and smoke?” Renly asked with a laugh. “Is he a ham?”

“That’s twice I have warned you.”

“Listen to yourselves,” Caatelyn said, exasperated. “My son’s are better behaved than you. And if you  _ were  _ my sons I would knock your heads together and lock you in a bedchamber until you remembered that you were brothers.” 

Jon chuckled beside her. 

“It is strange to find you beside my brother, Lady Stark,” Lord Stannis said. “You sit beside this pretender and chastise me when your husband’s murdrer sits upon my throne.” 

“We share a common enemy,” Cathelyn said. 

“The Iron THrone is mine by right,” Stannis said. “All those that deny that are my foes.”

“Your brother, Robert Baratheon, the last true king of the Seven Kingdoms legitimized and named his only daughter, Mya Stone, now Baratheon, as his heir. If you hold any love for your late brother, you will help do as he wished and if you hold any regard for my husband you will support the claim he died for.” 

“Mya is nothing but a Lannister pawn,” Renly scoffed.

“Mya was raised by my aunt,” Jon warned. “Do not question the integrity of House Tully.”

“I will not recognize a bastard as the heir to my throne,” Stannis said. “Much less a girl raised in Casterly Rock.” He turned to look at his younger brother. “For the sake of the mother who bore us, I will give you this one night to reconsider, Renly. Strike your banners, come to me before dawn, and I will grant you your old seat in the Council. I'll even name you my heir until a son is born to me. Otherwise I shall destroy you.”

“There is a way to not drive the realm to civil war,” Catelyn tried to reason. “We have seen what a dance of dragons can do, we remember the Blackfyre Rebellions well. Do not allow for a dance of stags or for more family to turn on one another.”

“I will not give up for the sake of the men who support my true claim,” Renly said.    
“Please,” Catelyn said. “See reason!”

“ We shall see, Renly,” Stannis said. “Come the dawn, we shall see.”

Stannis and his party began to ride back to their camp, but the red priestess remained. “Look to your sins, Lord Renly. The night is dark and full of terrors.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn needs a hug. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose someone as she lost Ned.


	69. Sansa V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempted assault in the first section. Skip over when Sansa says “Let me go” and begin again with “Her cousin knelt...”

The people stood on the docks as Myrcella, Joanna, and Aemon sat down on a decorative skiff to begin their journey to Dorne. Uncle Tyrion has promised Sansa’s mother to send Joanna away and he sent Tommen away as well for good measure, perhaps to show Aunt Cersei that he wasn’t showing favoritism. However, Sansa’s grandfather had spoken to Joffrey at length and had convinced him to allow Joanna to be sent with Myrcella. Aemon has been able to join as well, much to Avari’s despair and relief. 

Even if Sansa remained in the Red Keep, at least Joanna was away and safer from Joffrey or Aunt Cersei. 

“May the Seven guise the princess and the lady on their journey,” the High Septon said, holding out his hand towards the skiff. “May the Mother give her health. May the Crone give her wisdom. May the Warrior give her courage…”

“It is better to strengthen our ties with Dorne,” Sansa’s grandfather said in a hushed tone to Aunt Cersei, who kept her gaze forward as her daughter was being sent away. “It is better to show the people that you are not keeping your brother’s children hostage.”

Sansa glances down at her feet, knowing full well that she was still a hostage, before looking forward to see Joanna one last time before she got too far. Sansa’s mother was in the Red Keep. She had been too weak to make the trek down the steps to the docks. The birth had been terrible and the maester said another pregnancy would be unwise, although he believed her turning would happen soon and there would be no need to worry of such things anyway. 

“One day I pray you realize you have chosen the wrong daughter,” Aunt Cersei said. “I want you to know that you chose an outsider over your own blood and I pray you suffer as much as you have made me suffer.”

Tommen sniffed beside Sansa and she reached out to take her cousin’s hand, squeezing it gently. 

“You sound like a little cat mewling for his mother,” Joffrey sneered. “Princes don’t cry.”

“I saw you cry,” Sansa muttered under her breath. 

“Did you say something, my lady?”

Tommen squeezed her hand back. 

“My brother once cried when we had to leave him behind to go to Riverrun,” Sansa lied. 

“So?” Joffrey glared at her. 

“It seems to be a normal thing.”

“Is your brother a prince?”

“No.”

“Not really relevant then, is it?” Joffrey sneered. “Come, dog,” he said to the Hound. 

They then began to make their way back to the Red Keep, walking through the streets of King’s Landing. Joffrey was amongst his Kingsguard while Tommen walked next to their grandfather with Sansa in the back. 

“Hail Joffrey!” a man shouted. “Hail to the king! Seven blessings on you, your grace!”

“Murderer! Bastard!”

“All hail the king!”

“He’s not king!”

“He’s a bastard!”

“Please, your grace, we’re hungry!”

“Freak!”

“We need to get the children back to the keep now,” she heard her grandfather say quickly. 

“Please, your grace,” a woman cried. “Give us some food!”

“Bread, your grace,” a man shouted. “Please!”

Joffrey continued to ignore them until a mud ball hit him in the face. He began to groan and doubled over as the kingsguard drew their swords. 

“Who threw that?” Joffrey demanded. “I want the man who threw that! Find who did that and bring him to me!”

Sansa began to get jostled amongst the women who had come from the keep with them. 

“Sansa!” she heard Tommen cry out for her. 

“Tear him to pieces!” a man shouted. 

The crowd began to grow wild as Joffrey called for their execution. People began to scream as a septon was dragged into the horde of people and torn apart. Sansa began to get pulled in as well, but forced herself away and began to run down a dark passage, trying to find her way back to her mother. 

“Sansa!” she thought it might be her grandfather calling her in the distance, but she wasn’t certain. “Tommen!”

She turned and saw a man following her. He called out for her, but she began to run faster, desperate to get away. The man grabbed her by the arm and Sansa slapped him, only for him to hit her in return. He ripped the sleeve from her dress. 

“Let me go,” a sob escaped Sansa’s throat. 

“You ever been fucked, little girl?” the man sneered. “Come here.”

He grabbed her by the hair and began to drag her across the floor as Sansa continued to fight back, but the man’s grip was too tight until her threw her on the floor and all the air was knocked from her lungs. 

“Please!” Sansa begged. “No! No!”

The man was atop her ripping at her clothes and touching her legs. Then he froze, his mouth open, his breath leaving him. He fell to his side and Sansa saw Tommen standing over her, his sword bloody in his hands. 

Her cousin knelt beside her and helped her sit up. “Are you alright,” he asked. “Sansa?” She nodded and Tommen hugged her tightly, taking off his cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders. “I know a way to the Red Keep. Father had me memorize the layout of the city after what happened with the Targaryen men. He wanted us to be able to leave quickly if we needed to. Come on.”

Tommen took her hand and the two children fled up the passageways until they made it safely back to the Red Keep. Their grandfather fell to his knees and held them both closely. 

—

Sansa was running, always running until someone grabbed her hair, pulling her back. At first, she thought it was the man from before and then she saw it was Joffrey. No… no!

She awoke with a start, her stomach twisting and pulling in a pain that Celia never felt before. She pulled her covers away from her and saw red staining her shift and her the bedsheets. Sansa ran over to grab a knife and began to cut away at the bloodied fabric. The door opened and, to Sansa’s immense relief, it was Avari. 

Her mother’s friend rushed forward. “It’s alright,” she said gently. “It’s alright, sweetling.”

“If Aunt Cersei sees,” Sansa began to sob. “I can have Joffrey’s children now. I—”

“Help me flip it over,” Avari ordered. 

While the two of them began to attempt to flip the mattress, one of the queen’s handmaidens entered. They all froze with Sansa and Avari glancing at one another. The handmaiden turned and rushed from the room. Avari followed after her and Sansa did as much as she could to cover the stain when she heard metaled footsteps. She looked up, her lip trembling, as she saw the Hound standing and watching her. 

“What do we have here?” he said gruffly. 

Sansa sat down on her bed and began to cry. Avari rentered the room and paused when she saw the Hound, but went to Sansa regardless and held her in her arms. 

“Let’s get you to your mother, sweetling,” the older woman said gently. Although Sansa could not see it, she had no doubt that the woman was glaring at the knight. She helped Sansa stand and walked her to her mother’s room. 

“Oh, sweetling,” her mother breathed and her mother had Sansa in her arms in an instant. Sansa began to cry quietly in her arms. “Get Lord Tywin,” her mother whispered before turning her attention back to Sansa, pressing kisses to her hair and whispering sweet words of comfort to her. 

—

Her mother had changed her and gave her some sort of tea that helped soothe the ache in her belly. Her grandfather entered the room with a knock, his expression grim. 

Sansa looked at him, her lip still trembling. “I can have children now,” she whispered. “Aunt Cersei will have me marry Joffrey.”

Her grandfather knelt at her feet and took her hand into his. “You will not marry Joffrey,” he said. “I can promise you that. You will marry who you wish to, my sweet girl.”

“I want to marry Jon,” she said softly. Her cousin had always been the kindest to her. He treated her like her father treated her mother. As Uncle Ned treated Aunt Cat. He was like the gods had put together all of Uncle Robert and Uncle Ned and her father’s good qualities and put them into one person. “I want to marry Jon.”

“I will do what I can.” Her grandfather stood and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Giving the North their independence while also tying them to the Southron throne may help appease Joffrey to some extent. You will not marry Joffrey,” he said. “I can promise you that.”

—

“I didn’t think it would be so… messy,” Sansa said quietly as her mother tended to her. 

“Childbirth is much more so,” her mother said. “But I believe the first time is a little shocking to most women, especially under these circumstances.” She came up behind Sansa and began to brush her hair. “I only had your Aunt Cat to explain things to me and she had only barely started having hers a year or two before me.”

“This means I must marry now, doesn’t it?” Sansa asked. “Now that I’ve flowered.”

“I was  _ much  _ older than you when I married your father. Childbirth always has a degree of danger, but it is more so when a girl is so young. Your father and I did not think to have you married until you were at least seventeen, that way you would be eighteen or so when you had your first child.”

“Does it hurt? When you first lay with a man? I heard one of the servants talking.”

“It can hurt when a man does not care for you or does not… well, prepare you.”

“Was Father kind to you?”

“Your father did not care for me much when we wed. It was a duty then, but he still made sure there was little pain.” Celia blushed. “It gets easier over time if a man cares to learn you and what makes you feel more comfortable. I have no experience outside your father so I cannot say much of other men. However, your father and I would never let you marry a cruel man. Know that, at least.”

Sansa nodded. “Do you think Grandfather will get Joffrey to see reason?”

“I hope so,” she replied. “Perhaps he can convince your aunt that such a match might return your father to us… I am not sure.” She pressed a kiss to Sansa’s head. “I shall not let you’ve hurt, my sweet girl. I will not allow for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a little thing for Sansa [here](https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/618371967085592576/her-father-was-a-kingslayer-why-couldnt-she-be)


	70. Lyanna I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe we’ve reached SEVENTY chapters?!?!?

“Lyanna!”

“Lady Lyanna!”

“It’s  _ Princess  _ Lyanna, you nitwit!”

“Princess Lyanna!”

“Wolfgirl!”

“Hodor!”

“Lyanna! Get back here this instant! I don’t have time for this!”

The youngest of the Stark children rushed about the keep, ignoring the servants that called and chased after her. She ignored Hodor and Osha too. She especially ignored Rickon. 

She was very, very angry at her older brother. He had told a lie and Father had told them it was bad to lie and that they shouldn’t do it.

Lady ran about her, occasionally licking her cheek as though to calm her down. Lyanna’s direwolf was already as big as she was and was as gentle as her lady mother or lady aunt, or even Sansa. 

Lyanna smiled as Lady raced around before frowning again, remembering that she was angry at Rickon. 

He had told a lie. 

A raven had come from King’s Landing and Riverrun. 

Robb and Mother and Jon had said that something had happened in the capital and that they needed to go there to make sure everything was okay, but they hadn’t said much beyond that. But now, Rickon said that Uncle Robert and Father had both died. Lyanna knee that wasn’t true because Father had promised to teach her how to ride a horse once he got back from King’s Landing and Uncle Robert was so big and loud that Lyanna couldn’t imagine him being dead. 

She was angry that Rickon lied to her. It was wrong and Father would not be happy with Lyanna’s brother for saying such things. 

She would tattle on him as soon as their father came back. 

She was Lyanna Stark, the littlest wolf of Winterfell and everyone knew that she was a force to be reckoned with when she got her father involved. 

Her parents would return home soon and she would laugh when her big brother got in trouble. She would she would. 

“Princess Lyanna!” 

She winced. They had gotten Septa Mordane to enter the search. Lyanna rushed off, heading to the godswood. If anyone asked, she would tell them she had been praying. She’d add a prayer for Father too, so he could come home to Winterfell soon and tell Rickon off for lying. 

—

“Why must she come with us?” Tya Snow asked, glancing cautiously at Osha. The Wildling woman was tall and lean and always had a wild look in her eye, a bit like Theon or Rickon, if Lyanna had to compare. 

“Rickon has Hodor and I have Osha,” Lyanna told the older girl. “Maester Luwin says we should have an adult with us.”

Tya snorted. “Like you listen to Maester Luwin.”

Lyanna scowled at her. “I do when it’s important.”

“No you don’t.”

“You two need to stay closer to me if you want to go out walking in the woods,” Osha said stiffly. 

“Okay,” the two girls said, glancing at each other and smiling. 

Although Arya was Lyanna’s big sister, Tya felt like one too. Apparently, the bastard girl’s mother was from the Westerlands around Lyanna’s Aunt and Uncle’s keep. Lady Tysha was a kind woman and had married Lord Poole and acted as a second mother to Lady Jeyne. The Pooles were helping Rickon with the keep, which often left Tya to their own devices. 

“Stay close, little ones, we don’t know what lurks here,” Osha warned. 

“Lady will protect us,” Lyanna said, lifting her chin. 

They continued through the forest. Tya said she had found a berry push and Lyanna wanted to give some to Cook to make into pies. Maybe Father would come home if they made his favorite. 

—

Lyanna shifted uncomfortably in her seat next to Rickon. She had worn one of her nicer dresses, however, it had begun to get too small and Lady Tysha was making a new one for her. Lyanna tugged at the collar as slowly as she could as to not get noticed, but she could see Rickon giving her a disapproving look. She scowled back at him. He had no room to talk. His hair was a mess from training with Lord Poole. 

The Pooles and Maester Luwin stood around Rickon as a shepherd, the last of the smallfolk to visit that day, came forward. The man spoke of stolen and killed sheep. Lyanna didn’t like the sound of that. She liked sheep just fine, especially lambs. Mother had let Arya take her out to the pastures once and Lyanna had gotten to let a lamp. They had been cute. She and Arya had tried to bring one home, but Mother hadn’t let them.

“And it's not just thieves, my lord,” the shepherd continued. It was still weird to Lyanna that people called Rickon lord or even prince on occasion. “There's wolves in them hills now, more than I ever seen. They come down in the night and they kill my sheep. My three sons is away fighting for your brother, my lord. They'll fight, keep fighting till they're told to go home. I have no one to man my flock now. Only me. I can't keep watch all day and all night.”

“We can send two orphan boys fromWintertown home with you,” Rickon said after thinking for a moment. “They can help watch over your flock if you give them room and board.”

The shepherd bowed. “My wife always prayed for more children. We'll look after them. Thank you, my lord. And may the gods bless you and yours.” He bowed again before leaving. 

“Stop messing with your collar, Lyanna,” Rickon said with a sigh. “Is the new dress almost finished?” he asked Lady Tysha. 

“Almost, little prince,” the woman said with a smile. “I just need the little princess to come with me and I can make sure it fits properly.”

Rickon nodded. “If that's everyone, I'm going to go for a ride before dark.”

“Don’t forget to—” Lord Poole began. 

“Hodor,” Rickon said with a smile, looking at the friendly giant. 

“Hodor,” the man replied. 

Lyanna liked Hodor. He gave the best hugs. 

Ser Rodrik rushed into the great hall. “Rickon!” He shook his head for a second. “Prince Rickon. Torrhen’s Square is under siege.”

“That’s barely forty leagues from here,” Lord Poole said. “How can the crown strike so far North?”

“Might be a raid from the Ironborn,” Ser Rodrik said. “They’ve been good quiet recently and it’s not like King Robert is around to keep them in check. But it might be sellswords paid by Tyrion Lannister. Everyone knows the Imp likes to use such cheap tactics.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lyanna saw Lady Tysha stiffen and Lord Poole took her hand in his and kissed it. 

“We have to help them,” Rickon said, drawing Lyanna’s attention back to her brother.

“Most of the fighting men are away with Robb,” Ser Rodrik said. “But I can gather two hundred decent men.”

“Do you need so many?” Maester Luwin asked.

“If we can’t protect our own bannermen, why should they protect us?” Rickon asked before returning his focus to Ser Rodrik. “Go, fake the men you need.”

“Won’t take long, my prince,” the knight said with a grin. “Southerners don’t do so well up here.”

—

Lyanna sighed. Rickon wanted her to Stay in Winterfell until they sorted out the fight in Torrhen’s Square. She looked out of her window and could see the people of the keep and Wintertown go about their business. 

She wondered when her parents and brothers and Arya would come back. She had so much she wanted to tell Arya. She wanted Jon to tell her more stories. She wanted Robb to play monster and maidens with her. She wanted Mother to brush her hair. She wanted Father to teach her how to ride a horse properly. She wished Bran would visit from the Wall with Uncle Benjen. 

Lyanna decided that, when her parents come back, she’ll sleep between them for a month since they missed a lot of bedtimes. She’d hog all their time since Rickon was being mean about Father. 

She couldn’t wait for them all to come home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt like we needed to go to Winterfell for a spell.
> 
> And little Lyanna doesn’t believe her family is gone. 😭


	71. Arya IV

Arya noticed it first. Whether that was because the other two were idiots or if she was just that observant. But then Hot Pie commented on it and Arya figured it meant that the two of them were both stubborn idiots, but she just knew that wasn’t the reason she was annoyed, but Arya didn’t really feel like examining it at the moment. 

“Did Joy and Gendry have a fight?” Hot Pie asked. “If so, Gendry needs to apologize.”

“What makes you think Gendry’s the one who needs to apologize?” Arya asked, her stomach shifting uncomfortably. 

“Like Joy would do something to piss a person off.”

Arya couldn’t argue with that, which was annoying. 

Joy has always been perfect. At least Sansa wasn’t, with her weird crush on Jon—Arya loves her brother but she’d seen him walk into a pole and she thought Sansa deserved better. Aunt Celia was close to perfection, but everyone knew about the fish threat and that was the most unladylike thing Arya could imagine. Joy, on the other hand, was perfect to the point of annoyance. 

She was pretty. All willowy and blonde and green eyes that were big and round and adorable. Even Rickon thought Joy was pretty and he was still in the stage where he thought girls were gross. 

“I don’t know,” Arya answered. “They’re just both being idiots.”

“Yeah, well, it’s annoying,” Hot Pie said. “Someone needs to say something.”

“Why don’t you?” Arya asked. 

“Not getting in the middle of that.”

Arya sighed and glanced at Gendry as he worked. He was shirtless again, which made Arya’s insides flip. She could see him flexing ever so slightly, on purpose or not, as Joy passed him on her way to serve her uncle or cousin. They  _ were  _ cousins, but Joy called him  _ uncle  _ because Arthur and Sansa and the rest did. Arya stopped trying to figure it out now that rumors were spreading that the princes and princess were actually the half siblings of her cousins. 

Joy was blushing slightly as she passed Gendry, but she refused to give him even a glance. Arya could see the slight disappointment in the older boy’s gaze. She had noticed that Joy had begun to shift away from Gendry, slipping away from his touch or simply standing far enough away that he didn’t have a hand on her, despite the fact it was rather obvious she was uncomfortable around most people. 

Gendry began to focus on his work looking more and more disappointed as he continued. It was only then that Joy glanced at him, her cheeks red and her eyes sad. 

The look made Arya feel annoyed, but she couldn’t place the reason of why it did. 

—

Pretty girls always had it easy. But then, in the back of Arya’s mind, she remembered her mother once saying that  _ pretty girls sometimes had it the hardest _ . She didn’t think much about it until she saw Joy curled up inside the stable with the sheep. 

At first, Arya didn’t think it was Joy, but the red dress and the blonde hair was unmistakable. 

“Joy?”

The girl looked up and Arya’s entire body turned to ice and the. A fire began to rage in the pit of her stomach as she took in her friend’s appearance. 

The sleeve of Joy’s dress was torn at the shoulder and there was a bruise forming on her cheek and the edge of her mouth. Her bottom lip was split open, blood cracked against her pale skin. 

“What happened?” Arya demanded, kneeling before Joy and seeing that she has been crying, her eyes red and raw from the tears. Joy’s lips stretched tight as she tried to keep her tears in. “Hey,” Arya said, tucking a strand of Joy’s hair behind her ear. “What happened?” The girl shook her head. “Joy, you need to tell me what happened.”

“Ser Amory Lorch t–tried… he tried…”

Arya’s stomach began to twist as fire boiled in her belly. She looked down and saw that the bottom of Joy’s dress wasn’t torn and she didn’t see any blood that couldn’t be explained by the old drip from her split lip. “Joy…”

“I s–spat on him,” Joy sobbed. “And then he h–hit me and h–he tried to drag me into one of the rooms and… and—”

Arya pulled the other girl into a tight hug. “Hey,” she said softly, as though she were comforting Lyanna from a bad dream. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Tell me what happened, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Uncle Tyrion stopped him. But… but…” joy began to sob again and Arya held her tightly, stroking her hair as her mother used to. 

“Shhh,” she hushed, pressing a kiss to the top of Joy’s head. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “I promise.” Joy nodded and Arya felt some relief in that. “I want you to stay with Gendry for a bit.”

“I can’t,” Joy said. 

“Yes you can, he can look after you,” Arya replied. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t want him to see me like this.”

She sounded so broken and so very defeated. “Okay,” Arya answered. “Let’s go to Hot Pie in the kitchens then. How does that sound?”

Joy sniffed before nodding again. 

They went to the kitchens and when Hot Pie saw her, his eyes grew very dark and his expression was like nothing Arya ever thought she would see from the boy. 

“I had a sister once,” was all he said and Arya felt like she couldn’t ask anymore than that.

—

Arya scampered around the keep trying to find the man. For a second she thought she found him and grabbed his arm, only to realize it was a Lannister soldier. She bowed quickly before running off again until she found—

“Amory Lorch,” she said. 

The red and white haired man looked at her with a cocked eyebrow. “A girl has named a second name. A man will do what must be done.”

“Now!” she demanded. 

“A girl can not tell a man when exactly he must do a thing. A man cannot make things happen before its time.”

Arya scowled. “Maybe this is my first name then,” she snarled. “This girl is starting to think that maybe you weren’t the Tickler and that was just pure coincidence.”

The man’s eyes darkened and before he grew as apathetic as usual. He sighed. “A girl has lost faith. A man must prove her otherwise.”

—

Word began to spread that Ser Amory Lorch had died mysteriously on his way to speak with Tyrion Lannister. 

As they are told, Joy looks at Arya with wide eyes and she simply takes her friend’s hand and squeezed it. “He won’t ever hurt you again,” she said. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya’s getting jealous. And a new reason for Amory Lorch to be killed.
> 
> Also, I was going over the ages to the kid characters and I remembered that Avari and Vaylarr have a freaking second kid (Ciel) that I completely forgot about. We’ll just say that she’s at Casterly with Avari’s parents. 😭


	72. Robb III

Robb walked amongst his men as he toured the camp. He felt uneasy with his mother gone, although he had sent word of her talks with Renly and Stannis. Neither had gone well and both men refused to acknowledge their brother’s wishes or even come together to face their common enemy. 

_ I fear they would see the House your aunt married into and deem her just as guilty, as Elia and her children had been.  _ Those had been his mother’s words and Robb feared them. 

Even though King Robert had done House Martell right by giving them the Mountain, it could not bring back the dead. There were songs so sad that they were barely sung, even Dorne only sang them in whispers. But all knew what happened to Princess Elia and her children, what monstrosities had been done to them. 

Robb could not stomach the thought of his aunt and cousins being hurt in such a way, even the thought of Myrcella and Tommen being hurt like that made his heart stutter slightly. They were innocent. They took no part in their family’s crimes and yet… 

The soldiers greeted him as he went and continued to think and Robb nodded his responses. He saw Lady Talisa sitting by one of the healing tents, no doubt taking a break and approached her. 

“Lady Talisa,” he said, bowing his head slightly. 

“Your grace,” she replied, standing. “I’m not sure I’m a lady. Westerosi customs are still a bit foreign to me.”

Robb smiled. “I have lived here all my life and even I find them confusing. However, if I remember my lessons, a woman of noble birth is always referred to as a lady, unless she is a queen or a princess of course. Perhaps there are different terms in your own home country.”

“Why are you so sure I'm of noble birth?” she asked with a smile. 

“Because it's obvious,” he replied. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What if I told you my father sold lace on the Long Bridge, and my mother, my brother, and I lived with him above our shop?”

“I would call you a liar.”

“Not very noble to accuse a lady of dishonesty.”

Robb laughed. “Aye, that is true. My mother would box my ears for such a thing.”

“I always thought I was a brilliant liar,” she admitted. “Will we be here long?”

“I couldn’t really discuss troop movements with you,” he answered instead. 

“Of course, a spy would deny being a spy.”

“You're right,” she laughed. “You've found me out. I'm writing a letter to the Lannisters.  _ The Young Wolf is on the move _ .”

Robb smiled. 

“Robb.”

He turned and saw his mother and brother with a rather tall girl close to his age. Robb went to his mother and took her into his arms, hugging her tightly. He then went to Jon and did the same. 

“Mother, Jon, this is Lady Talisa. “She’s been helping with the wounded. It’s been nice to have an extra set of hands with the men when they need to be patched up.” He wished to say more, but did not. 

“Lady Talisa,” Jon said, bowing slightly. 

“Lord Jon,” Talisa replied with a slight curtsy. 

“Lady Talisa…?” Robb’s mother paused. 

“Maegyr, my lady,” Talisa supplies. 

“Maegyr? Forgive me, I do not know this name.”

“An uncommon name here,” the younger woman said. “An old name in Volantis. Excuse me, my lady. Your Grace.”

Robb watched as she went before turning his attention to his mother and offered her his arm as Jon walked beside them. 

“I’ve missed you,” Robb said. “I’ve not been able to speak to Uncle Jaime much, save to tell him of the news of Aunt Celia.”

His mother squeezed his arm. “I have no doubt the Queen was involved, if nothing else but for the stress she caused my sister.”

Robb nodded. “And it does not help that Uncle Jaime is not with her.”

His mother stopped and he looked at her. “I wish that you were free to follow your heart.” She looked to Jon. I wish you both were.”

“We know,” Jon said softly. 

“After your father died, you both have inherited his responsibilities and they come with a price.”

“We know,” Jon said. 

“We have a debt that must be paid and the Frey’s are not to be betrayed.”

“I know.”

—

“Uncle?”

“I hear Cat and your brother are back from treating with Renly and Stannis,” Robb’s uncle said. “How did that go?”

“Renly is dead.”

Uncle Jaime’s eyes widened for a second. “Who did it?”

“I am told it was a shadow that took the shape of Stannis.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“But that’s not what you’ve come to talk to me about, is it?”

“No.” Robb paused, feeling very much like a boy instead of the man he should be. “There’s a girl, but I’m betrothed.”

“Have you slept with her?” Uncle Jaime asked. 

“No.” But he had thought about it, dreamed of it even. 

“Well, that’s one less thing to worry about.”

“What should I do?”

Uncle Jaime chuckled. “If you asked me these sorts of questions fifteen years ago I would have probably given you a much different answer. But I am not who I was then and know better anyhow.”

“What should I do?” Robb repeated. 

“Set boundaries, create distance, at least until you wed and have an heir.”

“But what if I love her and it is more than simple lust?”

“You have not known her that long. I knew Cersei all my life and it was simply lust between us in the early years.”

Robb shuddered, not wishing to think of his uncle in his disgraces. 

“However, I implore you to give your Frey wife a chance. I did not love your aunt when we first wed and I know your parents were not in love either. But it grew on us, taking us by surprise, me more than the others. This girl did not ask for this marriage either. Perhaps there is a boy at the Twins she is in love with as well. Give her a chance and give yourself a chance to love her as well. And give this other girl space. If she has feelings for you as well, it is better to let her down gently than to allow her hope.”

Robb nodded before wishing his uncle Goodnight and returning to his own tent. 

—

Robb stood in his tent with Lord Karstark and Bolton and a few other councilors with him. His mother and Jon had retired for the afternoon. They had ridden hard and for a few days to make sure that Renly’s men would not come after them. Ser Alton Lannister stood before Robb. 

“What did the queen say?” Robb asked. He doubted it would be good, but she still wanted to known 

“She admired your spirit, your grace,” the knight said nervously, obviously holding back. 

“And what then?”

“She… uh…”

“If every man were held accountable for the actions of every distant relative, Ser Alton, we'd all hang.”

This caused the knight to smile slightly. “She tore the paper in half, your grace.”

Robb nodded. He honestly expected no less. “You've acted with honor,” he told the knight. “I thank you for it. Lord Karstark, see that Ser Alton's pen is clean, and give him a hot supper.”

“Ser Alton's pen is occupied, your grace,” Lord Karstark said. “The prisoners from the Yellow Fork.”

Lord Bolton muttered about there being too many prisoners under his breath, but Robb ignored it. 

“Is there room for Ser Alton?” the young king asked. 

“Does he need to lie down?” Lord Karstark continued with his questions. 

“Have the men build him a new pen,” Robb ordered. “Put him in with the Kingslayer for now. Have your boy watch over them.”

Lord Karstark nodded before addressing his son to follow the king’s orders. Torrhen stepped forward and put his hand on Ser Alton’s shoulder. 

“That will be all,” Robb dismissed them. 

The lords began to file out of the tent and Robb punched his nose. He was so very exhausted too. Robb noted that Lord Bolton was still in the tent and turned to see what the lord wanted when Talisa walked in wearing a bloodstained apron and a rag of a similar condition in her hand. 

“Your grace,” she said. “A minute of your time?”

Robb nodded. He looked to Lord Bolton. “I shall find you later and if it is not urgent we may speak of it for longer tomorrow.”

The Bolton lord nodded before leaving the tent as well, eyeing Talisa suspiciously. 

“I’ve been treating your wounded men,” she began. 

“And my enemies, as some of my bannermen are fond of mentioning.”

“They’re not my enemies,” she said plainly. 

“Aye, but we’ve been the ones giving you healing supplies and you’re using it on men we are fighting. I shall it call my men out for being resentful over resources that might be better saved for their falling friends and families.”

Talisa blushed, slightly chastised. “I've already run through the supplies,” she said slowly. “Some are easily replaced. Egg yolks, turpentine, oil of roses. Some of the knights have sent their squires to gather what is easy for me when they have time. “However…”

“Some supplies are not so easily replaced?”

“I need silk for stitching,” she paused before continuing. “I need fennel root for those with fever, willow bark. Mostly I need milk of the poppy. You saw what it was like to amputate a foot without any. I assume there will be more loss of limb before this war is over.”

“If you need help finding these—”

“I know where to get them,” Talisa said quickly before winding slightly and pausing. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t interrupt you.”

Robb shook his head. “Continue, my lady.”

“You're riding to the Crag to negotiate a surrender?”

“And if I am?” Robb asked, neither confirming or denying he would. 

“The Crag will have a maester and he will have what I need.”

“Any maester would.”

“If I could write a list, perhaps you could bring supplies back here?”

Robb desperately wanted to ask if she might come with him. However, he remembered his uncle’s advice and said nothing. “I shall see what I can do.”

—

“We cannot give them Uncle Jaime,” Robb told his mother and brother.

“But this might be the only way to ensure the girls and Aunt Celia’s safety,” Jon said, outraged. 

“We cannot risk it.”

“You mean  _ you _ cannot risk it,” Jon growled. “We might get the Lannister at our disposal if we surrender Uncle Jaime. Lord Tywin is not on the side of the queen and Joffrey.”

“Even so, we cannot risk it.”

“They’re being hurt Robb!”

Whispers of the recent riot had come to them and of how Sansa had been swept away by the crowd, even if it was only temporary. 

“I can’t do it Jon,” Robb said. “I’m sorry.”

Jon stormed from the tent, and Robb felt his twin’s anger twist in his stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robb is not an idiot. He’s doing his best.
> 
> Robb and Jaime talk and Jaime tries to make sure his nephew doesn’t make the same mistakes he did.
> 
> Robb actually spitting facts and telling Talisa off/explaining WHY his men don’t trust her. And him following Jaime’s advice.
> 
> He’s still not giving Jaime up though.
> 
> ALSO! My newest Celiaverse fic is up! It’s the last in the series and it’s called “Love’s Not Always Wise.” Check it out 🥰


	73. Mya III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: child death

There was a shift between Mya and Arthur and she was unsure if they would ever be able to fall back from it. It was as though they were at a crossroads and one of them had to make a move, but neither were willing to do so. 

It did not help that both tried to put all their focus on taking care of Eddie when they were not sparring with Vylarr. 

The littlest Lannister had grown more withdrawn since waking up and he seemed more lethargic than usual in the past week as well. Before, he had been forced to stay stiller than he had been in the Red Keep or afternoon Casterly Rock, but he had still been talkative and curious. Now, he seems withdrawn and thoughtful, as though he were a man, instead of the boy who still cried for his mother at night. 

Mya put most of her focus on taking care of Eddie. She needed to, or else she might feel she would snap and scream at Arthur whenever she saw him speak kindly to another girl, give another his wide smile that could even make the queen’s lips twitch ever so slightly. But, Mya couldn’t really blame Arthur for any of it. He was working himself to the bone and trying so desperately to be someone that Eddie could depend on. Arthur looked as though he was going to break at any moment. 

“Mya?” Eddie mumbled as he nuzzled his face into her side as she wrapped her arm around him. They watched as Arthur sparred, Vylarr shouting corrections and admissions as they did so. 

“Yes, sweetling?” she asked, kissing the top of his head. 

“I want Mother and Father. I want Sansa, Joanna, and Joy. I want Grandfather, Myrcella, and Tommen.”

“We’ll all be together again. We just have to wait a bit longer until you feel better.”

“I think I’m going to Grandmother Joanna.”

May stiffened. “You’re staying right here with us,” she said, kissing the top of his head again. “You just need to rest a bit and then we’ll be with Your Aunt Catelyn and Jon and Robb soon. I promise.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment. “I want Mother.”

“I know, sweet boy,” she said stroking his hair. “I know.”

—

They were trying to figure out how to carry Eddie with them on the journey. They knew they couldn’t constantly keep him on the horse as the poor steed would already be carrying quite a bit of their supplies as well. They need to figure out how to move Eddie more properly. 

They were coming up with ideas when Eddie began to develop a fever. 

—

“ _ Somewhere, _ ” Mya began softly, dabbing at Eddie’s fevered brow. He was like a hot iron to the touch and she worried ever so much. Someone had gone to fetch the maester, but Mya’s worries still twisted in her chest as she tried to comfort the little boy. “ _ Over the rainbow, way up high _

_ There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby. _ ”

She tucked some stray red hair away from his face as he whimpered. Mya would do anything to take his pain away. She lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to it before she continued to sing. 

“ _ Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue _

_ And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true. _ ”

He opened his green eyes and they were so very distant, as though the only reason he seemed to look in her direction was because she was singing. 

“ _ Someday I'll wish upon a star _

_ And wake up where the clouds are far behind me _

_ Where troubles melt like lemon drops _

_ Away above the chimney tops _

_ That's where you'll find me. _ ”

Mya took the rag from Eddie’s brow and soaked it in the cold water and lifted it again. She squeezed the rag to get the excess water out before pressing it to the boy’s brow again. 

“ _ Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly _

_ Birds fly over the rainbow _

_ Why then, oh why can't I? _ ”

She stroked his hair as she continued to sing. 

“ _ If happy little bluebirds fly _

_ Beyond the rainbow _

_ Why, oh why, can't I? _ ”

The air was quiet for a moment. 

“Mya?”

“Yes, my sweet boy?” she answered, taking his hand in hers. 

“I had a dream.”

“Oh?”

“A feral lion,” he said. “It’s so sad and angry. It was so angry.”

“It’s okay,” Mya whispered. “It was just a dream.”

Eddie shook his head. “You have to stay Mya.l

“I won’t be leaving you any time soon, Eddie,” she replied. “You just need to sleep.”

“Need to stay with Arthur. Lost. So… loss…”

“Arthur is going to stay, don’t worry, sweet boy.”

“Pride.” Eddie’s eyelids seemed to grow heavy as he tried to stay awake. “Remember pride. Don’t… Don’t let Arthur become scary… the raven said…” His eyelids continued to flutter and his voice changed as though he had seen too many years despite being only nine. “Dragons remember. Should be staying. Should… bran’s not there…”

He fell into a deep sleep and all Mya could do was kiss his hand and stay by his side. 

—

The maester said he wouldn’t last the night. 

“It’s amazing that he has held on for so long,” the older man said gently, his eyes tired, as though he had already seen too much death as it was and Mya had no doubt he truly had. “Perhaps the gods wished for him to pass on something before he left. But… he is quite delirious,” the maester continued. “I gave him some milk of poppy to ease the pain. I would suggest you say your goodbyes now.”

Arthur was ashen, as though death had come for him as well. His expression was like stone as they all went into their shared room to where Eddie lay, out of focus of the world around him. 

“Eddie,” Arthur’s voice cracked and Mya could see the weight of everything crashing upon his shoulders. 

Eddie turned his head slightly and a slow smile spread upon his lips. He sat up, with all his strength, and reached for Arthur happily, his eyes out of focus. “Father.”

A small choking sound came from Arthur. 

“Father…”

Slowly, Arthur walked to his little brother and wrapped the boy in his arms, barely big enough to really do anything. 

“I’m here, sweet boy,” Arthur said, obviously making his voice deeper to sound like Ser Jaime. “I’m right here.”

“Where’s Mother?”

A tear slid down Mya’s cheek. 

“She’ll be here soon.”

Mya sat down on the bed next to Arthur and Eddie. “I love you so much, Eddie.”

The boy smiled dreamily. “Uncle Vylarr?”

“Yes, little lord?” 

Mya looked over at the knight and found that he was crying too. 

“When Mother comes back can you ask if I can get a real sword?”

“I will do my best.” Vylarr nodded and turned on his heels, leaving, no doubt feeling it was too much. 

“Father?”

“Yes, Eddie?” Arthur asked gently. 

“Can you sing?”

“Of course, sweet boy.” Arthur slowly began to rock his little brother in his arms. “ _ Leaves from the vine, _

_ Falling so slow, _

_ Like fragile, tiny shells _

_ Drifting in the foam.  _

_ Little soldier boy, _

_ Come marching home.  _

_ Brave soldier boy _

_ Comes marching home. _ ”

Mya leaned in and wrapped her arms around them both, peppering Eddie’s face with kisses. 

“ _ Those leaves did grow _

_ From branches overgrown _

_ Drifting slowly down _

_ Resting on the loam.  _

_ Little soldier boy, _

_ Taken from home, _

_ Forced to fight a war _

_ That’s not his own. _ ”

“We love you, Eddie,” Mya whispered. “We love you. I promise I’ll look after everyone. I promise I’ll take care of Arthur.”

“ _ Leaves from the vine, _

_ Falling so slow, _

_ Like fragile, tiny shells _

_ Drifting in the foam.  _

_ Little soldier boy says  _

_ ‘Carry me home.’ _

_ Sleeping soldier boy _

_ Is carried home. _ ”

Eddie exhaled and Mya could already feel his body grow stiff. Tears began to flood her vision and then she heard a scream. For a moment, she thought it was her. But then she realized, she was merely sobbing. 

Arthur’s heartbreak ripped through the air like a battle cry, calling to the gods at their injustice as Eddie’s body began to grow cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m soooo soooo sorry. I thought Eddie was going to live, I truly did, but he needed to warn Mya about the change Arthur was about to go through. You also have to remember that the Bloodraven is not a good person. While I think he has lost a lot of his humanity as the three eyed raven, I think he had very little to begin with.  
Arthur is going to be changed from his brother’s death and thus begins his arc of vengeance and Mya’s attempts to match him so that he doesn’t go too far down the dark path


	74. Celia XX

Celia shot up from her bed, dread pooling at her belly like a snake waiting to strike. The children. 

Tears began to spill down her cheeks. All her children were lost to her save one. She could only hope that Arthur, Eddie, Mya, and Joy were safe with Vylarr and that Joanna was safe with the Martells. She knew full well that Joanna was safe. Oberyn and Doran were too good of friends to let anything happen to her youngest daughter. Her other children… She did not even know where they were. She did not know if they were eating well or if they had found good places to sleep. She did not know where Arya was and the thought of her niece in any danger made Celia’s stomach twist painfully. 

And then there was Jaime…

Surely her sister and nephews were treating him as well as they would and could any other prisoner. But at the same time, he was not by her side. She had to be so strong all the time. Avari was her only comfort, but her best friend was currently worrying about her own husband and children too. Avari, who didn’t have the same sort of protection that Celia did when it came to her house name. It did not help that Tywin had been sent away to gather the Lannister forces more fully. Whispers of an attack on King’s Landing spread amongst the servants and Celia hoped for the best and feared the worst. 

She needed her Jaime. 

She needed her husband. 

Even if they both showed their sorrows and weakness to each other, at least they would be together. At least she would find comfort in his arms, in his embrace, in the weight of him between her legs. Perhaps she could imagine they have one more chance for a babe to fill her belly with one more time. She felt so very empty, as though a part of her was lost. She had the same feeling now, as though everything wrong with the world had come into fruition. 

She needed Jaime. 

Needed him like she needed air. 

Celia slipped from her bed and pulled on her robe. She walked to her door and looked at the soldier guarding her room. He was young, perhaps not much older than Mya. 

“Would you walk me to my daughter’s chambers, ser?” she asked. 

“The king ordered that you stay in your own room, my lady,” the youth said carefully. 

“Perhaps he did, but I swear to you the queen will understand a mother’s need to care for her children. Please.” 

The boy’s jaw tightened and he contemplated her for a moment. “Fine, but there shall be me and your daughter’s guard there as well.”

“Thank you,” she replied softly. 

Celia followed the young soldier to her daughter’s room, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that it was the Hound that guarded her. While she did not particularly care for the dower man, she trusted in him to carry out his duty and protect her daughter to the best of his abilities. 

“What is she doing here?” the Hound asked gruffly. 

“I am here to check on my daughter,” she replied. 

The Hound frowned, but stepped aside regardless. 

Celia entered her daughter’s room and relief flooded into her body as she found her precious girl asleep in her bed. She went to her daughter’s side and stroked her cheek. Sansa mumbled slightly and one eye opened. 

“Mother?”

“Shhh…” Celia said softly, climbing into the bed atop the covers. “Go back to sleep, my sweet girl.” She put her arm around Sansa and her daughter curled into her, humming softly as she drifted off to sleep. 

Celia watched her daughter for what felt like hours until sleep claimed her as well. 

—

Celia looked down at the scroll in her hand as Cersei lit the candles of her chambers with a long straw. 

“Since when do you light your own candles?” she asked, glancing at her husband’s twin. 

“Since I decided that I can’t stand to look at any of my handmaidens for another instant.” She blew out the flame on the straw’s end and turned to look at Celia. “How many times can you read one raven scroll?”

Celia sighed and looked down upon int. “Stannis Baratheon’s fleet has been spotted sailing north past with two hundred ships.”

“Which is more than we have,” Cersei replied. 

“Yes, it is more than we have, but I know not why you are showing me this. Is it to pretend that I am not your prisoner or do you think that I will have the insight of my husband who has seen many more battles than you or I.” 

“You’re a fish, are you not?” Cersei said through gritted teeth. “Is this not something you would know?”

“All I know about ships is my experience with them and what little I recall from sitting in on Arthur’s lessons.” 

“And?”

Celia sighed setting down the scroll. “He will be at our gates within five days, four if he has the wind.” 

“And will he?”

Celia closed her eyes. “I do not control the weather, so I don’t know. I would suggest preparing for four days just in case.” 

“We have strong, high walls. We shall rain fire down on them from above.” 

“ _ Rain fire on them from above _ ,” Celia repeated. “You’re quoting your father, aren’t you?”

“Why not?” Cersei asked curtly. “He has a good mind for strategy, doesn’t he?”

“This would be where Tyrion might argue with you about semantics, but I am not him,” Celia said standing. “But, yes, I suppose he does. He and Tyrion both do, although I fear they are often rather short sighted in their planning. Sadly, neither of them are here. It is just you and Joffrey, the Lord of the Six, or is it Five, Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

“I am sure you are trying to make a point.” 

“He needs to start acting like a king,” Celia said, bringing herself to her full height. She knew, in part, why Cersei had brought her there. They were both women and were locked in a game of politics that few wanted them as part of the discussion. “The war you started is coming to our doorstep. And if the entire city wants Joffrey dead — ”

“It was Tyrion who gave them to Joffrey if I remember,” Celia reminded her. “It was wrong of him to do, but it happened. I have already sent the girls away and ordered that the only servants to attend Joffrey are to be boys and men.” 

“You had no right — ”

“I am making sure that your son does not begin to garner the same notoriety as the Mad King,” Celia said curtly. “He hurt women as well, with some rumors saying he hurt your mother too.” 

Cersei looked at her darkly. Her green eyes were very much like Jaime’s but there was a bitterness to them that Celia’s husband did not have. 

Celia sighed. “If you can’t control him —”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” Cersei laughed. “He doesn’t listen to me.” 

“It is hard to put a leash on a dog once you’ve put a crown on its head.” Celia stepped out from behind the desk as Cersei sat on her bed. “You should have known that Joffrey wouldn’t make a good king and yet you filled his head with those whispers since the moment he was born.”

Cersei looked down at her lap. “I always hoped he would be like Jaime,” She admitted. “He looks like him, in a certain light.” 

Celia closed her eyes. “He is like how Robert was in the beginning after the rebellion.”

“Robert was a drunken fool then,” Cersei said. “But he didn’t enjoy cruelty. He always apologized, you know, whenever he hurt me. He would shower me in gifts and affection.” 

“He was never a poet,” Celia said. “But he cared deeply, especially once he set his heart to do so. Yet you never once tried to care for him.” 

“He wanted Lyanna,” Cersei said, waving Celia’s comment away.   
“He wanted to be loved. How long do you think he knew of what you had done and said nothing? He knew that the children were not his and still loved them with his whole heart. He was willing to go down in history as a king who cast aside his wife based on a rumor, but a rumor nonetheless, in favor of his bastard. History would not have looked kindly on him in the long run and you might have been seen as a martyr, the Mother herself. Yet…” 

Cersei closed her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder…” She sighed. “I wonder if this is the price for what we’ve done, for our sins.” 

“I will not argue with you,” Celia said. “It is my husband you slept with.” 

Cersei looked away. “The Targaryens wed brother and sister for hundreds of years. That’s what Jaime and I would say to each other in our moments of doubt, even before you came into our lives. I told Ned Stark the same thing when I told him to bend the knee to Joffrey.” She paused. “Half the Targaryens went mad though, didn’t they? What’s the saying?  _ Every time a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin _ .” 

“You’ve beaten the odds then,” Celia said. “Tommen and Myrcella are good children. They are kind and gentle and everything a mother would want.” 

A tear slid down Cersei’s cheek. “It was all Robert,” she said quietly. “They got all of his goodness and Joffrey gained all of my bitterness.” 

Celia looked at the woman in pity before looking away. “I once hoped, in the beginning, that we might be friends,” she said. “But I think that chance has long since passed.”

“Yes,” Cersei agreed. “I believe it has.” 

—

“Aunt Celia.”

She turned and was only a little surprised to find Tommen there. Her nephew had taken his duty as her closest male relative, besides Joffrey, to heart and had taken to caring for her and Sansa, making sure their needs were met and that they had proper food and clothing provided for them. 

“Come in, sweet boy,” she said, motioning for him to sit next to her, setting her knitting aside. “How might I help you?”

“I…”

“What is it?”

“Robert Baratheon is my father,” he said firmly. 

Celia blinked for a moment. “Yes?”

“I know… I know there are rumors that Uncle Jaime is my sire, but my father is Robert Baratheon.”

Celia smiled. “Yes,” she said. “He is.” Just as much as Mya and Joy are her daughters. “He truly is.”

“I do not want you to hate me,” he said. 

“Oh, Tommen,” she stroked his hair. “I could never hate you. You are my favorite nephew after all.”

“Really?” 

“Truly.” 

Tommen smiled at her. 

“I feel that this isn’t the only thing you have come to speak to me about,” she said cautiously. 

“I wanted to tell you that I will be out on the battlements when Uncle Stannis comes.”

Celia’s heart froze in her chest. “Tommen, you are barely.”

“But I am the people’s prince,” he reasoned. “Joffrey will not rally the soldiers and will no doubt hide should something happen. Uncle Tyrion, Grandfather, Uncle Jaime, and Arthur aren’t here. I need to be out there.”

“Tommen, you’re a child.”

“I did not come here to ask your permission, Aunt Celia,” he said earnestly. “I came to tell you because I might be a good distraction for Mother.”

Celia’s breath caught in her throat. “Distraction?”

“I know I can’t get you out of King’s Landing, but I might be able to get Sansa out. Maybe Mother won’t notice if Sansa is able to escape.”

“Tommen—”

“It’s at least a chance.”

“But where would she go?”

“The Eyrie,” Tommen said. “I’m friends with Robin and have been in correspondence with him. Joffrey and Mother think I am trying to sway him to our side, but I’ve been discussing the possibility of getting Sansa to the Vale. When news of the Baratheon forces heading our way, Robin sent word that he was sending a small group of Valemen to the Red Keep. They were able to smuggle in disguised as mercenaries. They might be able to get Sansa out.”

A tear slid down Celia’s cheek and she stood, covering her mouth in her hand to hold back a son of relief. Her daughter might be free. Her children might all be free of the king and Cersei. She would be alone with only Avari, but…

Celia turned to her nephew. “Are you sure it will work?”

“We can try,” Tommen said, standing. “They are all men who have fought under Uncle Jaime before and saw him fight Euron Greyjoy. If they are caught by goldcloaks, they will act as mercenaries sent by Uncle Stannis to claim a hostage for Grandfather. Aunt Celia, I can’t guarantee another chance like this.”

Celia closed her eyes. “I shall tell Sansa when the attack begins. It would be too dangerous for anyone else to know.”

Tommen nodded. 

Celia looked out her window and wondered if she had missed the first sack of King’s Landing only to be present for the second.

At least there was a chance that Sana’a might be free. There was at least a chance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Father’s Day everyone!
> 
> So, Celia senses Eddie’s death 😢 and she misses her husband and children.
> 
> This scene in the show was originally between Cersei and Tyrion, but I feel it works really well for Cersei and Celia.
> 
> And who loves Tommen? I know I do!


	75. Joy IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe we’re on chapter 75 and we aren’t even done with the second book/season of the original series?!?

She stayed away from Gendry until her lip healed at least. Although, she knew he had probably seen her. She knew that Uncle Tyrion wasn’t trying too hard to figure out what happened to Ser Amory Lorch. 

“He most likely finally pissed someone off enough,” he told Joy while stroking her hair. “I wouldn’t fret about what your friend did.”

Joy blinked, her heart pounding in her chest ever so slightly. How did he know? She didn’t even understand how Arya had been able to do it. What if this meant he would give Arya to Aunt Cersei? What if she couldn’t protect her? It was her job to protect her. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, taking in her expression. “I won’t turn in your little blacksmith friend.”

Joy’s eyes widened. He thought it was Gendry? Well, she supposed it would be strange for Arya to do it, even if he didn’t know it was Arya. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, nodding her head.

“Uncle,” he corrected, tucking more hair behind her ear. His mismatched eyes seemed as though they could see everything. “I have missed you calling me that.”

Joy looked away, a strange feeling in her belly. “I best be going to finish my duties.”

The Lannister lord frowned and let her go. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose so.”

—

“Why are you avoiding me?” Joy froze, unable to turn around and look at him. 

It was stupid that she hadn’t been able to put a finger on her feelings for him, because that’s all they were and could be. They were just feelings. It was just the first time she had ever had a boy really look at her, even if it was just a moment. It was just the first time she spent a long time around a boy who wasn’t family. Who was she to say or do anything about it?

Especially when it seemed apparent that Arya liked him too. 

Arya, who was slim, but had subtle curves like Mya, which always drove the boys a little wild. Arya, who was funny. Arya, who could take care of herself. Arya, who had the right name. Arya, who could offer Gendry so much more than Joy ever could. She could match him more too. They looked right together. 

Joy… Joy didn’t really fit with anyone, save her family. 

“I’m not avoiding you,” she said firmly, trying to answer his question without running away because that would only prove his point. 

“Then look me in the eye and say that to my face.”

She turned to the side, careful to not show him her bruised cheek. That was still healing. It was only a brown discoloration of the skin at that point. In a day or two it would be gone. She was sick of the pitying looks from the others who had traveled with them. Some had leered at her, but a majority of them hadn’t. There were still good men in the world like her Uncle Jaime and Lord Stark and Arthur and Tommen. 

She glanced at him. “I’m not avoiding you.”

Gendry put his hand on her bruised cheek and she sucked in a breath and Gendry froze, moving around her instead of pulling her face towards him. His eyes darkened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Arya and Hot Pie took care of me,” she said. “It’s fine. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks.” It still hurt though.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” 

“It’s not your job to take care of me,” she said, looking away. “I can take care of myself.”

“What if I want to take care of you?”

Joy sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t need to feel obligated to—”

“Damn it, Joy,” he cupped her face in his hands and brought her lips to his. 

Her eyes widened as she felt his chapped lips scratching against her own. A tingle ran up her spine at the sensation. His thumb rubbed against her bruise and Joy finally relaxed into the kiss. 

She wasn’t sure how long it lasted. It was probably only a handful of seconds, but it felt like blissful eternity to Joy. 

He pulled away from her, his warm breath upon her face and Joy opened her eyes to look at him. He was truly handsome, and good. She could remember Uncle Jaime sleeping on the bed with all the girls as he told them very watered down versions of his experiences as a knight. Sansa was adamant that she would marry someone like her father. Uncle Jaime had just smiled. _ You girls will all marry someone brave, gentle, and strong. _

That’s the sort of boy Gendry was though, wasn’t he. 

Then she thought about Arya, about the looks the Stark girl gave him and the occasional looks she noticed Gendry give her as well. 

“What about Arya?” she asked softly. 

“Arya’s a lady and—”

Joy’s heart dropped and she backed away from him quickly. He opened his mouth to speak but she shook her head fiercely. “Just because I’m a bastard,” she said, her lip trembling as tears began to spill down her cheeks. It was as though she had been slapped again. “Just because I’m a bastard doesn’t mean I deserve to be your second choice.”

“Wait, Joy!”

But she was already rushing back inside the keep, wiping her lips furiously, trying to get rid of the salty taste from them. 

—

Joy sat next to Hot Pie as Gendry worked on some horseshoes. She had no idea where Arya was or she would be there instead. She personally wished that Hot Pie was in the kitchen, but Joy didn’t want to be alone so she suffered Gendry’s presence, sticking close to Hot Pie when she could. 

She hadn’t spoken to Gendry in a few days. The others could tell that something had happened, but Joy refused to say anything and it was obvious that Gendry wasn’t talking about it either. 

Even so, she could tell that Gendry was listless and his gaze purposefully kept away from her. 

Uncle Jaime always fought for Aunt Celia. This must mean that Gendry didn’t care for her as much as that then. It was better to squash out her feelings now than to let them fester. 

At least Lord Tyrion was gone now. He was apparently heading back to help the Red Keep. The Baratheon forces were drawing near. Joy sent a silent prayer to all the gods to look after her family that still resided there. 

“You need sour cherries to make it right,” Hot Pie continued. He was going over a recipe. It wasn’t as though he was telling them so they would know. It was more about him working through it than anything. Even so, Joy liked listening to him talk about food. It made her hungry, true, but it was still nice. “And the secret is you dry the stones, and then you break them with a mallet. That's where the real flavor is. You crush 'em up real fine. And then when you're finished, you sprinkle them over the pie crust.”

Arya came rushing in. “Where’s Jaqen.”

She didn’t even ask it as a question and the three of them looked at her curiously. 

“How would we know?” Hot Pie asked. 

“Do you need something?” Gendry asked. 

“I need him now,” she said. “Lord Tyrion’s marching out.”

“And you need him because…?” Joy inquired. 

“He’s helping me,” the other girl reasoned. 

“I saw him,” Hot Pie said after thinking for a moment. 

“Where?” Arya asked sharply. 

The boy shrugged and popped the last pastry in his mouth, he’d been giving some to Joy as well. Arya stormed over and grabbed him by the ear. “Ow!”

“Where?”

“They went riding out the gates a few hours ago,” he said and Joy could see Arya’s grip tightening. “On patrol. Let go of my ears.”

She did and turned rushing off. 

“What was that about?” Hot Pie muttered, rubbing his tender ear. 

—

“So let me get this straight,” Gendry said, punching the bridge of his nose. “The man, who ran away instead of helping us, is now helping us escape and says to just walk out of the bloody gate?”

“Are you sure?” Joy asked as they quietly made their way towards the gate. 

“We can trust him,” Arya said. “He’s the one who got rid of Amory Lorch too.”

Joy’s eyes widened.

“What does that man have to do with anything?”

“He’s the one who tried to rape Joy,” Arya said, slightly distracted as she kept an eye out for other guards. 

“_ Arya _,” Joy hissed. 

“Who _ what?!” _ Gendry shouted. 

“Shh!” 

“What about the guards at the gate?” Joy asked, trying to shift the conversation.what about them? I doubt they will just let us walk away.”

“He didn't say,” Arya replied. “He just said, _ walk through the gates. _”

“That doesn’t tell us what to do about the guards,” Gendry said. He took Joy by the arm and pulled her, a little forcibly behind him. “It’s a pretty important thing, don’t you agree?”

“We have to trust him,” Arya insisted. 

“He abandoned us just after you freed him to fight!” While Gendry wasn’t yelling, with how quiet the courtyard was he might as well have been. 

“Stay here then, if you're afraid,” Arya said curtly. “Come on, Joy.”

Joy pushed her way past Gendry and went to follow Arya. 

“Arya,” Gendry began. “Don’t—”

They went through the gates and found all the guards dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion is much more like his book counterpart than his show one. And speaking of Tyrion, I am SHOCKED that no one mentioned the Tysha appearance in Lyanna’s chapter OR on Tya Snow. 
> 
> And... Gendry done goofed. Not good, my dude. Not good. 
> 
> And Arya has picked her “final name.”
> 
> And they escape! 
> 
> Remember to check out my newest Celiaverse fic [Love’s Not Always Wise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24538315/chapters/59249338) Celia is a bit like Joy in this one. Just a tad bit.


	76. Catelyn II

It had not been long since Robb went to the Creg to do his business, leaving Catelyn and Jon behind in the Stark camp. There were a few skirmishes in which the men faced those hired by the crown and some lives were lost. This included Rickard Karstark’s son and Alton Lannister, who had been caught up in the conflict upon one of his moments of release where he could walk. The brave Lannister boy had done his best to defend a couple Stark soldiers who were already injured, but the boy could hardly defeat three grown men at once. 

However, Lord Karstark became unbearable when it came to his thirst for vengeance. It was not justice he sought, but vengeance for wounded pride. 

“Get back!” the man shouted. “I want his head! Any man who stands between a father and his vengeance asks for death!”

“Lord Karstark,” Catelyn said, approaching the man with Brienne and Jon following behind her. “This man is our prisoner.” She glanced at Jaime and saw that he was just as calm as he usually was. However, she could see the slight gleam of worry in his eyes. But she did not think that worry was for himself.

“This monster killed my son,” Lord Karstark bellowed. 

“He was not the one to drive his sword through his back,” Jon said. “If you seek vengeance, find it on the battlefield.” 

“I will have his head,” the Northern lord growled, towering over Catelyn. “And if you try and stop me—”

“You’ll strike me down?” The venom in Catelyn’s voice made the Northern lord’s eyes widen and retreat slightly from her. “Have you forgotten me, ser? I am the widow of your liege lord, Eddard Stark. I am the mother of your king!” 

“And where is our king now?” Lord Karstark sneered. 

“You know very well,” Jon shouted.

“He has gone to the Crag to accept the surrender,” Catelyn said harshly.

“Aye,” Lord Karstark answered darkly. “Gone to the Crag, but not to negotiate. He brought that foreign bitch with him.” 

“Lady Talisa is still here,” Jon said sharply. “She was even by your son’s side when he died. Do you dare question my brother’s honor?”

“I’ll bloody well—”

Brienne partially drew her sword. “Threatening my lady and her family is an act of treason.” 

“Treason?” Lord Karstark laughed. “How can it be treason to kill a Lannister? Unless you protect him because your bitch of a sister and her children—”

It was Jon that drew his sword then, the edge of the blade to the older man’s neck. “Finish that sentence and it will be your last. My aunt and cousins are prisoners just as much as my father was. You say a father has a right to vengeance? Tywin Lannister has not set his personal forces down upon our own because Jaime Lannister is alive and the Old Lion does not support the crown. By killing Ser Jaime you risk the wrath of Tywin Lannister and any hope at peace once Joffrey Waters is dead.” 

Lord Karstark snarled, but left, storming away with his men following behind him. 

—

“That was not wise, Jon,” Catelyn said. “Drawing your sword on Lord Karstark was not wise.” 

“I cannot handle it,” he said, pacing the floor of her personal tent. “I cannot stand that they claim Aunt Celia and my cousins amongst the Lannisters. They may not be Northmen, but they are our blood. Family, duty, honor. If we do not draw a line, they will be harmed in the process. If Robb will not do so, then I will.” 

“Your brother has much to concern himself with,” Catelyn tried to reason. “Robb is a boy, much like yourself, but he needs to act as a king and that sometimes means going against our conscience.” 

“I know Uncle Jaime sired the queen’s children, but that cannot discredit all that he has done for our family. His friendship with Father and King Robert.” 

“In the eyes of those who do not know him, it does.” 

“Uncle Jaime has been a model prisoner, even giving us advice against the crown’s forces. How can they all be so blinded in their hate to not see it?”

“Because it is hate, Jon,” she said softly, standing and putting her hand on his arm. “It blinds all of us, especially in the height of emotion.” 

Her son looked away. “If they kill Uncle Jaime, it would kill Aunt Celia. She just lost a babe. Losing her husband would kill her.” 

Catelyn’s stomach twisted painfully for she knew it was the truth. 

—

Jon had retreated to his own tent after they could not reach any sort of agreement word wise. Catelyn stood with Brienne and watched as the camp devolved in its lack of order. Jon had attempted to find it, but even his similar appearance to his father could not stop the men’s want of blood. Their loyalty, even to Robb was questionable. Despite her family’s military prowess, it did not stop the men from questioning them every turn of the way. The boys were just boys and Catelyn was a woman whose sister was married to the named Kingslayer. 

“Your son returns at dawn, my lady,” Brienne said.

Catelyn nodded and sighed. “So they say.” 

“The Kingslayer won’t last the night,” the lady knight added. “The more they drink, the angrier they will get. And if the Karstarks draw their swords when no Stark men are present, no one else would die defending a Lannister.” 

Catelyn closed her eyes for a moment, centering herself. “Come.” 

They went to the cage where Jaime was being held. Her good brother was covered in blood and she wondered if he had been beaten instead of killed.

“I need to be alone with him,” Catelyn told the guard.”

“My lady,” the green boy began. “Our orders—”

“Your orders, which I just gave you, are to leave me alone with him.” Catelyn looked at the boy. “Although many of you seem to forget, this man is my good brother and I trust that he will not hurt me.” 

The boy’s lips formed a hard line before he bowed and left.

“Come to say goodbye, Cat?” her good brother asked. Although his voice oozed his normal confidence, she could hear the weariness in it. “I believe it’s my last night in this world. Would you give my love to Celia and my children if it is.” 

“How can you be so calm?” she demanded. “Do you not hear them? They want your head.” 

“Many people do,” Jaime admitted. “It's the price of being a knight.” 

“You are no knight.” 

Catelyn closed her eyes before she turned to look at Brienne, who had just spoken. It seemed that the girl had not meant to speak, but indeed she had. 

“You have forsaken every vow you ever took,” she continued. 

Jaime shook his head. “So many vows. They make you swear and swear. Defend the king, obey the king, obey your father, protect the innocent, defend the weak. But what if your father despises the king? What if the king massacres the innocent? What if the weak pose a threat to all you hold dear. They tend to have the numbers after all.” Jaime paused. “No matter what you do, you forsake one vow for another. And who are you?”

“A truer knight than you will ever be, Kingslayer,” Brienne said assuredly. 

“Kinglsayer,” Jaime mocked. Catelyn had not seen him this self deprecating since the news of the latest child’s stillbirth. “What a king he was. Here’s to Aerys Targaryen, the Second of his Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm. I shoved a sword into his back. None of you know the man like I did. If I had to do it again, I would have cut his hands off too.” 

A chill went down Catelyn’s spine. She knew why. 

“But you have not come here to talk of my crimes. Have you?” he asked. 

“No, Catelyn said. “I have not.” She looked to the young girl beside her. “Brienne, your sword.”

—

Robb stormed Catelyn’s tent as she sat at her desk. “Tell me it isn’t true.” 

She did not reply and instead looked up at him, determination in her gaze. 

“Why?”

“For my sister and her children.” 

“You betrayed me. You and Jon both. You would betray the North?”

Catelyn’s second eldest had been shocked at her decision, but it did not stop him from helping Jaime and Brienne get away from the camp. She had offered Jon to go with them as well, but he had refused. 

_ My place is with my brother, even if I don’t agree with him.  _

“Robb—”

“No!” he shouted. “You know I would not allow it, and you did it anyway.” 

“Stannis Baratheon is closing in on King’s Landing. If he takes the Red Keep, your aunt and Sansa will be prisoners once more and used to discredit our independence. If Jaime is free, Tywin Lannister will do what he can to hold the Baratheon forces off and we have a greater chance of a monarch on the southron throne who would see our stance as legitimate.” 

“I lost my son’s in this fight, one of them to capture the Kingslayer. You commit treason for your traitor sister and her children? I wish I had run him through when I had the chance.” 

“I grieve for your sons, my lord,” Catelyn said. “But—”

“I don’t want your grief,” the old lord snapped. “I want my vengeance. And you stole it from me.” 

“Killing Jaime Lannister would not buy life for your children, but returning him to King’s Landing might save more fathers and mothers from that fate.”

“You’ve weakened our position, Mother,” Robb said harshly. “You have brought discord into our camp. And you and Jon did it behind my back.” 

“I will not regret it,” Catelyn said. “Perhaps if it were Arya stuck there, you would understand.”

Robb turned away from her. “Make sure she and my brother are guarded day and night.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this fic is going to be well over two hundred chapters. I’m on Chapter 76 and the Battle of the Blackwater hasn’t even happened yet (although it will soon).
> 
> I was originally going to have Jon go along with Jaime and Brienne, but I decided against it with how Sansa’s arc is going to go. So, Jon is staying with his mother and brother. For now.


	77. Jaime XX

The young woman, who was honestly probably no older than Mya, pushed Jaime off of his horse, his chains rattling slightly as she sent his horse off after her own. They would be walking the rest of the way he supposed. He knew it would be a long journey and, if the lady knight, Brienne of Tarth, were not so determined that he was a horrible person, they might be able to take a more direct route. 

It had been a long while since he had dealt with people who hated him based on his reputation alone. At least the Northmen hated him because he was a Lannister who sired the king who took Ned’s head. That, at least, he could forgive. But this girl did not know him, only his reputation as a kingslayer. He doubted she cared at all about kings and queens and lines of succession. If Jaime remembered correctly, she was the heir to her family since her father had no sons of his own. 

He could recall Celia speaking about a match between the girl who pulled him forward and their oldest son, Arthur. 

At the very thought of his family, his heart ached, which only made him more annoyed at the girl as she led them through the forest. 

“You are Brienne of Tarth, correct?” Jaime asked, absentmindedly. He could honestly care less at the moment. 

She was a means to an end, a way to get back to his wife and Sansa, a way for him to possibly stop the conflict before it got any worse. Jaime could see how much the whole situation was wearing on Robb and Jon. He could see how it was tearing Cat apart with worry, so much so that Cat and the youngest of the twins had set him free, regardless of whatever wrath they might face from Robb. The eldest Stark boy was like that, like his father in that way. Gods, how he wished he had been able to impart more knowledge to the boy. 

“Yes,” Brienne answered. 

“It’s a long way to King’s Landing,” Jaime commented. “Especially if you intend for us to walk the entire way. My name is Jaime Lannister, in case you didn’t know.” 

“I already know who you are,” she said annoyed. Jaime could hear a river up ahead and hoped she didn’t plan on using it, they would be out in the open.

“Why do you hate me so?” Jaime asked. “I know your father, as does my wife. Have I ever harmed you? Perhaps my dear sister and the king have done something the Tarth that I do not know of.”

“You’ve harmed others,” Brienne said through gritted teeth. “Those you were sworn to protect, the weak, the innocent.” 

“Ah yes, Kingslayer,” Jaime snorted. “How could I forget? You do know that your judgment of me is nothing new. Perhaps be more creative.” 

The girl pulled him towards the edge of a river. “You will not provoke me to anger.” 

“I already have,” Jaime countered. “Look at you, you’re ready to chop my head off. You probably could, to be honest. Cat took my hand so I would fight you with only one, and I don’t have a sword either.”

“You will refer to Lady Catelyn properly.” 

Jaime scoffed. “I can speak of Cat how I please. She gave me permission to long ago.”

The girl glared at him and Jaime simply shrugged. 

“You can glare all you want, he told her. Honestly, you should just untie me. We are both aiming towards the same goal anyways. I won’t run. If Cat took my hand, that means she’s confident enough to not give me my fake hand so that could only mean you’re good enough to defend me if need be. However, don’t you think that carting along someone tied up will gather people’s attention?” 

They found a canoe and Jaime worried about what poor sap would wake up to find their only mode of transportation on the water gone. But it didn’t matter in the long run, he needed to get home to his wife and eldest daughter. Jaime got onto the small boat and laid down. The girl launched the boat and she began to paddle them downstream. 

—

Brienne pulled the boat up to shore and he shook his head at her insistence to not ask for his help, as though it would be beneath her. He rolled his eyes. If only she would realize that he wasn’t going to run. He actually wanted to be handed back to his sister by one of Cat’s people. Perhaps it would at least warrant the release of Celia and perhaps call off the search for the others. 

Jaime didn’t want to imagine the situation his wife and children were in, but he was forced to do so nightly, the thought haunting him greatly. How horribly was Celia treated to lose their babe? She had never once had a hard pregnancy save for with Joanna, but that was because their sweet girl had come too early. Yet, now she had lost a babe after having four healthy children. Jaime knew it was the same way Cat was thinking. How could she not?

And then there was the growing danger of Stannis Baratheon, who, by all accounts, may have murdered his own brother. How could Jaime trust that his wife and children would be treated well by such a man who held as much hatred for Lannisters as Robert held for Targaryens in the beginning. Jaime shuddered at the thought. 

They continued on their way and found three girls hanging by their necks, their wrists tied. He felt sick looking at them. A sign was around their necks. 

“Ah.  _ They lay with lions _ . Tavern girls, I’d say. The soldiers were probably under Lannister employ rather than actual soldiers. One of them might have given them a kiss. Perhaps they knew each other before. Perhaps they were forced to do it. Not all girls can protect themselves like you.” He looked at the girls sadly. One was barely older than Mya. “They earned this by declaration of some self-righteous Northman. You must be proud to serve the Starks after seeing what their men can do.” 

“I don’t serve the Starks,” Brienne said. “I serve Lady Catelyn.” 

“Tell yourself that when they swing in your dreams. I know they will, for they will swing in mine. As they will swing in their father’s.” Brienne pushed him roughly against a tree and began tying him to it. “What are you doing?”

“Burying them.” 

“I admire your noble heart, my lady,” Jaime said. “But those bodies are fresh. Whoever did this doesn’t have the same honor that you do. They are likely nearby. We need to move.” 

“I think these women deserve a proper burial.”

“I’m not saying they don’t. I’m saying that whoever did this might be back.” Jaime could hear some men approaching. They were arguing about something. “Untie me,” he ordered. “Now.” Jaime could see the men now. They were leather armor and Jaime could not tell if they were Northmen or men of the Riverlands. It mattered not either way. 

“What’s your business,” one of them demanded. 

“Traveling with a prisoner,” Brienne answered. At the sound of her voice, the three men began to laugh. The three began to call out her sex and continued to laugh at her expense. “If you’ve finished,” they laughed harder. “We’ll be on our way.” 

It seemed as though she realized this was not a wise venture. 

“Whoa,” one of the men said, holding out his hand and putting his other on the hilt of his sword. “Who do you fight for?” 

“The Starks,” Brienne replied. 

“What did he do?” another man asked, pointing to Jaime. 

“Apparently eating is a crime,” Jaime said, rolling his eyes. “Who knew.” 

“No,” Brienne said, without missing a beat. “Stealing is a crime.” 

“But it’s not a crime to starve. That’s a lord’s justice for you.” 

“Where are you taking him?” the first man asked.

“To Riverrun,” Brienne answered.

“Why Riverrun?” 

Brienne began to unbind Jaime from the tree. “Steal from the Tullys and it’s their dungeons you rot in.” 

“Why not kill him?” the third man asked.

“For stealing a pig?” Jaime asked incredulously. 

“I don’t give the orders,” Brienne said. “He must be important to someone. Must've slept with the wrong woman too.” 

Jaime’s jaw tightened. She shouldn’t have said that, especially if she was trying to connect him to Riverrun. 

The second man moved closer, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Jaime. “Do I know you?” 

“Have you been to Ashemark?” Jaime asked.

“No,” came the reply. 

“Then you don’t know me.” 

“Do you ever go to the river market at Salt Rock?”

“Is it near Ashemark?”

“No.” 

“Then I've never been there.”

Brienne finally freed him and they began to walk away. 

“What do you think of these beauties?” the third man asked. 

Jaime closed his eyes. They were trying to goad, get her to lash out at them so that they had reason to hurt her, a girl who was young enough to be their daughter. 

“I hope you gave them quick deaths,” she answered simply. 

“Two of them we did,” the first man laughed.

“Wait!” the second man said. “I do know you. That’s Jaime Lannister.” 

“I wish someone had told me,” Jaime said, rolling his eyes as though it were the stupidest thing he had ever heard. “I wouldn’t have had to steal that pig.”

“If this is the Kingslayer,” Brienne said. “I think I’d know about it.” 

“How do you know what the Kingslayer looks like?” the first man asked. 

“I was at the Whispering Wood,” the second man replied. “I saw him. They dragged him out of the woods and threw him down before the king. Look, he’s even missing a hand.” 

“He’s not the Kingslayer,” Brienne insisted. “Sorry to disappoint you. If he was, I’d only be traveling with his head.” 

They tried to keep moving but the first man stopped them. “I have a question for both of you. I want the answers at the same time. I count to three and you both answer. What’s his name?”

Jaime sighed and looked at Brienne, already bracing to be manhandled as she pushed him aside and drew her sword. Jaime was rather impressed by her abilities and was rather disappointed that the men didn’t have much of a chance. He supposed that Celia was right in that the girl would have fit in at Casterly Rock. Mya would enjoy sparring with another girl and to have a girl closer to her age. 

Brienne drew her short sword as she pushed one of the men to the ground. “Two quick deaths?” 

Jaime watched as she thrust the shorter sword through the man’s gut and watched as he bled out. She must have hit something vital because he was dead soon after.

“Those were Stark men,” he said as she withdrew her sword and wiped the blood off with the fabric of her trousers. 

“I don’t serve the Starks,” she said. “I serve Lady Catelyn. I told her I’d take you to King’s Landing and that’s what I’m going to do.” She turned and began to cut the three women down from the tree. 

Jaime sighed. “I only have one hand,” he said. “At least let me help you bury them so we can leave more quickly.” 

—

Jaime dreamed that he had Celia in his arms once more as they laid in bed at Casterly Rock. He could sense the absolute peace of the moment, knowing that all his children were asleep and safe. What he wouldn’t do to get back to that moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime just wants to get back to his family 😭😭😭😭
> 
> And just a reminder that Brienne is only 17 in this. She WILL get a love interest though, eventually. Just not Jaime. You’ll see!


	78. Arthur IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Reference to self harm. It’s not explicit, but it’s referenced. IT IS NOT WRIST CUTTING!

They could barely hold a funeral. They could barely call it a funeral. They sold everything that they could, their horse, their cart, anything unnecessary. 

Eddie was wrapped snugly in the finest linens and his body was salted and perfumed before he was placed in a small coffin. Vylarr had arranged it with the septon they had gotten for the ceremony. The man of the faith had been told in confidence who they were and the man would send Eddie’s body to Casterly Rock with a group of silent sisters where he might be buried with the rest of the Lannisters. They had sold everything that they could to get him there, but it was worth it. Arthur didn’t want his brother to be alone and away from his family. One day, Arthur would be buried at his brother’s side and he felt so unworthy of it. 

He had watched every step of his baby brother’s embalming. Mya had tried to convince him not to watch, but Vylarr had said nothing, standing vigil as he watched the proceedings too. Arthur watched as Eddie was cleansed by the silent sisters. He watched as they removed his bowels and organs. He watched them drain his blood and watched as they sewed him back together again, stuffing his body with the fragrant herbs and the salt. It was as though he were sleeping. It was as though he would wake at any moment, but it would never happen again. 

His brother was dead and it was all Arthur’s fault. 

He watched as his brother was wrapped in red and yellow, no gold for him yet, although Arthur was able lay his chain of gold in his brother’s hands so that he might have both of their houses colors upon him. Then, they were allowed to pray over him for seven days as everything around Arthur began to swirl. 

It wasn’t fair. He should have been the one to die. He wasn’t an adult by any means, but he had led a life fuller than Eddie had been able to. Eddie should be the one alive. Eddie should be the one his parents got to hold whenever they were able to reunite. 

Gods, his parents. He could not imagine their heartache whenever they learned of Eddie’s death, could not imagine the way his mother would scream out her brokenness or how his father would fall to his knees in shock, silent as the grave. 

Arthur wanted to scream that it wasn’t his fault. That he had done all that he could to protect his baby brother but he needed someone to blame. 

He hadn’t realized he was crying until Mya wrapped her arms around him. Arthur closed his eyes and allowed himself this one comfort. Even if he didn’t deserve it.

—

They left the village as soon as the seven day vigil was over. They thanked the people of the inn that had helped them. Vylarr left a copy of his house’s sigil and promised that he would return one day to be able to properly give them their thanks, but Arthur barely paid any attention. He felt numb to everything. 

Mya kept shooting him worried glances, but Arthur ignored her too, despite the way she seemed to break a little every time he did so. 

He didn’t blame Mya for what happened. He never would and perhaps he should make it more clear that he didn’t and wouldn’t. He loved her far too much to ever blame her for it. Mya was innocent of what had happened to Eddie and one day he would be able to tell her so properly, but in that moment all he could do was spiral into his own mind as he began to slowly break down. 

If he had just gotten to Eddie sooner. If he hadn’t handed Eddie the fishing pole. If they hadn’t gone fishing that day. If they had moved on to another village. If they had gone down a different path. If they had headed towards Casterly Rock instead. If Eddie had been allowed to stay with their mother, if he had stayed at Casterly Rock with Vylarr’s daughter, Ciel. If they had never gone to Riverrun. If they had never left Casterly Rock. 

He just kept spiralling. 

Arthur should have been the one to die. 

It was moments like this that the scar across his chest itched and he could feel the blade cut across his body as he stood bravely before his mother and sisters as his father fought off the intruders. He could have died then, yet, he had lived. Why had the gods allowed him to live if he wasn’t able to save and protect his brother? Why wasn’t he able to do that simple thing?

What was the point of living if he had to lose his baby brother? Eddie who wasn’t even ten yet. Eddie who hadn’t been allowed to hold a proper sword yet. Eddie who hadn’t had a chance to have a crush on anyone. Eddie who hadn’t gotten to hear their father praise his footwork or his skill. Eddie who hadn’t had the chance to hear their mother complain about him growing too fast. Eddie who hadn’t been old enough to defend their sisters from the attention of unwanted boys. 

He wasn’t even ten yet.

How was that fair?   
How was any of this fair? 

Eddie should have been the one to live. 

Eddie should have been the one allowed to grow old. 

Eddie—

“Arthur!” 

Mya’s shout broke him from his thoughts. He looked up and saw her rushing to him, ripping her sleeve and taking the fabric to wrap it around his hand. Arthur looked down and realized that he had cut it while sharpening his sword. Mya fussed about him as Vylarr ran to them and began to do the same. 

Huh. 

It hadn’t even hurt. 

—

It had been six days since they had left the village that Eddie had died in. 

Six days of Arthur feeling nothing but anger and bitterness over his failure as a knight, his failure as a Lannister, and his failure as a brother. Six days for him to find that he enjoyed the sight of his own blood. He didn’t cut himself as he did on accident when he had sharpened his sword. Instead, he would press a finger to the blade and make a slight cut, almost a papercut, upon the tip and watch as his blood dripped to the ground and wondered, briefly, if he was destined to join his little brother. 

“Arthur,” Mya had said the night before, crawling over to lay next to him. “You can’t leave me.” 

He said nothing to reassure her, although he desperately wanted to. But he didn’t deserve her worry. He didn’t deserve her affection. He didn’t deserve any love she might have for him. He deserved nothing. 

Even though he wanted all of it. He desperately wanted all of it. 

But on the sixth day of leaving the village, the thirteenth day since Eddie had died, they were found. 

The goldcloaks surrounded them and Vylarr refused to let them be without a fight. Arthur could guess his thinking. He had already lost one Lannister child and had been helpless to do anything to prevent it. He wouldn’t go down without giving them a fighting chance. 

Arthur recognized none of the soldiers and guessed they weren’t Lannister ones. His father had made sure he knew all the Lannister troops by face, at the very least, if not by name. None of these men had fought for his father, none of them had fought for his grandfather. That meant they were the crown’s men. It meant they fought for Joffrey and his Aunt Cersei. It meant that they were part of the reason his family was scattered. It meant they were part of the reason that they had gone down this path. It meant they were the reason that his brother was dead. 

This was their fault. It was  _ their  _ fault. 

He would make them pay. 

Arthur roared. The lion inside him demanded justice, demanded blood. 

But it didn’t have to be his blood anymore. No. It would be the blood of those who had taken everything away from him. Even if it meant dying, he would destroy every last one of them. 

His sword cut through the throat of the man he was fighting. He dropped his sword and clutched at his neck as Arthur pushed him down and stabbed his sword swiftly under the man’s arm so that he would bleed out quickly. He turned and prowled for only a second before cutting down the next opponent. He kept fighting and fighting and fighting until there was none left. 

The last man was gasping for breath, crying out in pain. Crying for someone. But Arthur didn’t care. He killed him anyway. He kept fighting, destroying the body as much as he could. The man, boy really, no older than Mya, had golden hair and green eyes, eyes that looked blue as the sunlight flickered through the clouds. 

“Arthur!” Vylarr shouted, although his voice sounded distant, as though he were under water. “That’s enough!” 

Soon, hands were upon him, dragging him back. 

Whatever spell had been cast upon Arthur was broken and suddenly his muscles ached. His very bones ached. Everything had been wound so tightly and suddenly it was released. Blood came rushing to his head and he felt dizzy. Intoxicated. He stumbled and heard Mya’s voice cry out for him before everything faded into black as the ground rushed to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur trying to deal with his anger and pain and all of it. 
> 
> And this is the feral lion that Eddie tried to warn Mya about.
> 
> Sansa is next with the Battle of the Blackwater!


	79. Sansa VI

Sansa kept close to her mother as the soldiers prepared for battle against the Baratheon soldiers. Tommen had come to see her, kissing her cheek and her mother’s hand as he prepared to go to the battlements to help with the troops. He looked like a boy playing knight. He reminded Sansa of her father or Arthur. He was handsome, like a prince or a knight from a song. But he was so young. 

“Stay safe, Sansa,” he said to her. 

“You too, Tommen,” she replied, throwing her arms around him and hugging him fiercely. He was a brother to her, as was Myrcella a sister. But Tommen had been a comfort to her since Joanna and Myrcella had been sent away. He was, in many ways, her protector too. Arthur and her father and his would be proud of the man Tommen was becoming. 

Tommen nodded to Sansa’s mother and then made his way, followed by a couple of kingsguard and a few Lannister soldiers. 

“Your king rides forth to battle,” Joffrey said, swaggering in as though he were a man grown. “You should see him off with a kiss.” He drew his sword and presented it to her. “My new blade, Hearteater, I’ve named it. Kiss it.” 

Sansa stiffened before leaning down to kiss it. 

“You’ll kiss it again when I return and taste my uncle’s blood,” the boy king sneered. 

“Will you slay him yourself?” Sansa asked. She could picture Stannis in her mind and doubted it. 

“If Stannis is fool enough to come near me.”

“So you’ll be outside the gates fighting with the vanguard?” Sansa asked, once more doubting it. 

“”A king doesn’t discuss battle plans with stupid girls,” Joffrey snapped.

“I’m sorry, your grace,” Sansa said, holding back an eye roll. “You’re right, I’m stupid. Of course you’ll be in the vanguard.” She could see the look of annoyance on Joffrey’s features. “They say my cousin Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest, and he’s only a pretender.” 

“Your Stark cousins’ turns will come,” Joffrey said, his lip curling. “Then you can lick their blood off Hearteater, too.” 

Sansa and her mother watched as the soldiers continued to pour out. 

“Some of those boys will never come back,” her mother said. “And there will be no songs for them.” 

“Joffrey will,” Sansa said softly. “The worst ones always live.” 

“Shh,” her mother said, pressing a kiss to Sansa’s head. “Come, sweetling.” 

—

Sansa sat between her mother and Avari within Maegor’s Holdfast, surrounded by other noble women. Soon, Aunt Cersei came sweeping in, a scowl upon her features. Sansa knew that the woman wasn’t pleased with both her sons being out during the battle. 

“I don’t know why she wants us here,” Sansa said to her mother. “She hates us.” 

“Perhaps she hates you a little less than she hates everyone else,” Avari said. 

Sansa’s mother snorted slightly. “She hates us enough to keep us close,” she said, stroking Sansa’s hair. “We are reminders for her.”

“Maybe she’s jealous then,” Avari offered. 

“Why would she be jealous?” Sansa asked, but then she remembered the rumors. If they were true, then that would be reason enough. 

“Sansa,” Aunt Cersei called. 

Her mother kissed her hand and nodded, letting Sansa know that it was alright to go to the queen. 

“I was wondering where our little lionfish had swum. You look pale, child. Are you still flowering?” 

Sansa’s cheeks burned slightly. “Yes.” 

“Fitting isn’t it?” Her aunt asked. “The men will bleed out there and you will bleed in here.” She looked to one of the servants. “Pour my niece some wine.” She offered the filled goblet to Sansa. 

“I’m not thirsty, your grace.” 

Her aunt rolled her eyes. “I didn’t offer you water.” 

“What’s he doing here?” Sansa asked, glancing at the knight by the door. 

“Ser Ilyn?” her aunt asked. “He’s here to defend us. When the axes smash down those doors, you may be glad to have him.” 

“When?” Sansa asked, a bit daring. “Do you not mean if?” 

Her aunt pursed her lips, but ignored the question. “We cannot trust the guards. Should the city fall,” she amended her previous statement. “They will be the first ones out of the doors.” 

The door opened and a goldcloak came in and went to Aunt Cersei directly. He bowed to her and then righted himself. “The lads caught a groom and two maids trying to sneak away with a stolen horse and some gold cups.”

“The battle’s first traitors,” Sansa’s aunt sighed. “Have Ser Ilyn see to them,” she said. “Put their heads on spikes outside the stables as a warning.” 

The man bowed and the other knight followed him out the door.

“The only way to keep the small folk loyal is to make them fear you more than they do the enemy,” her aunt said. “Remember that, should you ever hope to be queen.” 

Although Sansa could not remember the Ironborn in her home that well, she could remember the darkness and the fear. Yet, not one person had ever tried to hand her mother over, even trying to put her mother and their family as far away from the Ironborn as possible. Fear is not what garnered loyalty, Sansa knew that. She had seen it. 

If she were ever queen, she would be loved. 

For what had fear brought her aunt but war upon their doorstep. 

—

“Sansa,” the queen said again. “Come here, little lionfish.” 

Her mother squeezed Sansa’s hand and smiled. 

“My queen,” Sansa said, curtsying. 

“What are you doing?”

“Praying,” Sansa replied. 

“You’re perfect, aren’t you?” her aunt asked, her voice wavering through her drink. “Praying,” she repeated. “What are you praying for?”  
“For the gods to have mercy on us all,” Sansa replied. 

“All of us?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Even me?” 

“Of course, your grace.”

“Even Joffrey?”

“For Tommen,” Sana replied.

Her aunt narrowed her eyes. “Praying to the gods to have mercy on us all,” the woman sneered. “The gods have no mercy. That’s why they're gods. My father told me that when he caught me praying. Your grandmother had just died, you see. I didn’t really understand the concept of death, the finality of it.” Her eyes were distant. “I thought that if I prayed very, very hard, the gods would return my mother to me. I was a child.” 

“Grandfather believes in the gods,” Sansa said with certainty. She had seen her grandfather pray and thank the Seven often. She had seen him.

“He believes in them,” her aunt said. “He just doesn’t like them very much. Look at your mother,” she said. “She was praying to the gods when she lost her child. How could someone merciful do something like that?” 

Sansa didn’t know, but, at the same time, she could not imagine a child, much less a babe, being safe in this environment. 

Her aunt held out a goblet for the servant to fill with more wine. “One for her as well.” She handed it to Sansa. “Here. Sit. Drink.” 

Sansa did as she was asked and began to realize that the queen might be scared or missing Myrcella. 

“I should have been born a man,” her aunt said. “I’d rather face a thousand swords than be shut up inside with this flock of frightened hens.” 

“They are under your protection,” Sansa said, confused. “You asked them here.” 

“It was expected of me,” her aunt said in annoyance. “As it will be of you if you ever become Joffrey’s queen. If we somehow prevail, these hens will return to their cocks and crow of how my courage inspired them, lifted their spirits.” 

It was Sansa’s mother who lifted the women’s spirits. They deferred to her. Sansa’s aunt was only getting drunk. “And if the city should fall?” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” her aunt sneered. “The Red Keep should hold for a time, long enough for me to go to the walls and yield to Lord Stannis in person. If it were anyone else outside those gates, I might have hoped for a private audience. But this is Stannis Baratheon. I’d have a better chance seducing his horse.” 

Sansa’s jaw dropped, horrified. 

“Have I shocked you, little lionfish? Tears aren't’ a woman’s only weapon. The best one’s between your legs. Learn how to use it.” She took a large sip of wine. “Neither your mother or you would be safe. You are both Lannisters, little lionfish, and Stannis Barathon hates Lannisters.” 

—

Sansa jumped slightly when she felt her mother’s hand on her back. 

“You must go to your rooms,” her mother said, her voice low. “Bar your door and open it for no one unless they give you the words _ as high as honor. _”

“What?” 

“Your cousin, Robin, has sent men for you,” she said. “Tommen has let them into the city. They will meet you in your rooms and smuggle you to the Eyrie.” 

“But what of you?” Sansa felt bile begin to rise in her throat as worry began to consume her. “Can’t you come with me? You and Avari?” 

Her mother shook her head. “I cannot, my little lioness,” she said. Her mother cupped her face in her hands and kissed the crown of her head. “Someone needs to be here when your father returns. And I can still be a great hostage to use against your grandfather and your aunt and cousins. One of us needs to stay.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Besides,” she said. “I have not fully recovered and do not trust myself on a horse if that is what I must do.” 

“Mother, please,” Sansa begged, tears catching upon her lashes. 

“You need to go,” her mother urged. “My only concern right now is protecting you. Now go. The less hostages your aunt and Joffrey have, the more easily that we can win. Go.” She nodded and Avari took Sansa by the arm and pulled her away, pushing her out the door when the queen was distracted. 

—

“As high as honor.” 

Sansa threw open the door and found a man not much older than Robb and Jon and Arthur standing before her. He had blond hair and the bluest eyes that Sansa had ever seen. He bowed to her. “Harrold Hardyng at your service,” he said. 

“Are you to take me away?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he motioned for one of the men to grab the bag Sansa had packed in her haste once she had reached her chambers. “We must leave now, my lady.” 

“Can’t we get my mother?” Sansa asked. “Or Lady Avari?”

The fair haired man shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We don’t have the time.” He took her hand then and they fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is going to be so freaking long. Lol!
> 
> Originally, I had thoughts that Cersei or Joffrey would force Tyrion to marry Sansa, but then I was like: NoPe! 
> 
> So I’m introducing Harry the Heir instead!
> 
> Just remember that Jonsa is still endgame!


	80. Tommen II

Uncle Tyrion had returned just before Joffrey had closed the gates. Tommen was half convinced his older brother would have closed the gates regardless and let their uncle and whatever poor soldier who had accompanied him be the first to fall in the fight against their Uncle Stannis. However, it was Uncle Tyrion who knew and understood the plan for Blackwater Bay. Afterall, he had been the one to come up with it. 

_ Wildfire.  _

Tommen could remember his Uncle Jaime speaking of the weapon only in whispers and the slight shudder that seemed to rock the brave knight to his very core. The Mad King had planned to let the entire city burn with it, raize the entire city to the ground with the green flames that could have, possibly, lasted for decades if it could remain in a controlled area. 

A catch of the Mad King’s stash, more than three hundred jars full, had been found under the Dragonpit when some renovations had been done. When Tommen had heard that his uncle and brother planned to use the murky green liquid, he had tried to dissuade them from using it. However, as always, he was not listened to. 

Wildfire was dangerous and this specific batch of it was old. Tommen had read once that old wildfire was unpredictable and could burn for a long time. What if they couldn’t control it? Hallyne the Pyromancer assured them all that, because there were no more dragons, the fire would not be so raging. But, Tommen had heard whispers of the Targaryen girl who had walked through fire and hatched three eggs. They were rumors that everyone said to put little faith in, but even Joffrey thought it would be wise to see if such rumors were true. And, if they were, would the wildfire burn more causticly?

At the very least, this would give Sansa a way to escape. He and Robin Arryn had corresponded at length when it came to their cousin Sansa and Aunt Celia. Although Robin had never been one to participate when playing with their cousins in their youth, usually holed up in a tower at his mother’s request or in the Eyrie learning how to be the future lord. However, it did not diminish his care for their shared family.  _ Family, duty, honor.  _ It was the Tully way. 

Robin had sent some of his most trusted knights to retrieve Sansa. The Vale had remained neutral, although Tommen couldn’t be certain why, but this was a chance, at the very least, to not be suspected. House Arryn had not sided with the crown, but they had not sided with the Starks either. Joffrey thought so little of Robin that Tommen doubted his brother would even consider the possibility of Sansa being taken to the Vale. 

And Tommen was out here so his mother might worry about him instead of focusing on Sansa. The plan to keep his mother distracted might have been better if Myrcella were here, but that would mean Joanna would need to be taken away as well and Tommen had no idea how that would have affected her health. 

Now, all Tommen could do was pray and do Arthur and his Uncle Jaime proud. He was the son of King Robert Baratheon, and he would not falter. 

—

They all stood upon the harbor wall and Tommen could feel his heart beat wildly in his chest. There was no going back in this moment. Even if he would tell anyone who would listen that he did not want this to happen, that he had argued against this strategy being used… It would not matter. History would remember that Tommen Baratheon had stood by his brother-king and watched as their uncle ordered Blackwater Bay to be set alight. 

He could speak against such a plan until he was old and grey, if he would even live that long, but no one would believe him because, despite his age, he had chosen to be part of the battle. This is how history would remember him. And he would have to take it, just as Uncle Jaime had to take the title of Kingslayer. 

They watched as their one ship approached Uncle Stannis’ fleet. Uncle Tyrion took the torch offered to him and dropped it off the side of the wall. A sellsword their uncle had hired for this exact purpose could be seen at the slight distance, lighting an arrow before launching it into the sky. 

The flaming arrow soared over one of the Baratheon ships before hitting the water. The green flames began to erupt, spreading across the top of the water, spreading like spilled water until it was an all consuming haze of green fire. The empty ship had been filled with explosives and once the flames hit it…

Tommen closed his eyes to the blast, feeling the heat from even where he stood, his exposed skin burning at the feel of it. 

Tommen could hear the screaming in the distance as men burned in their armor or were simply burned into oblivion. The screams continued as the fire continued. It was chaos, utter chaos. And Tommen could do nothing to stop it. 

History was written by the victors. But even so, it would not change how the smallfolk of King’s Landing thought as they watched their bay burn. 

Tommen glanced at his brother and saw him smiling, enchanted, almost, by the flames as Hayllne grinned at his creation. Uncle Tyrion, at the very least, had the conscious to be horrified. But it had not stopped him from enacting his plan. Now, all they could do was hope that, once this was all over, the fire would stop burning. 

—

Lancel ran up to them from within his place at the keep. “Your grace,” their cousin said with a bow. “The queen has sent me to bring you both back to the Red Keep.”

Uncle Tyrion turned to Joffrey, his eyes narrowing. “If you won’t defend your own city, why should they?” he asked, motioning towards the other soldiers. 

“What would you have me do?” 

“Lead,” their uncle reasoned. “Get down there and lead your people against the invaders who want to kill them.” 

Joffrey took a steadying breath. “What did my mother say exactly? Did she have urgent business with me?”

“She did not say, your grace,” Lancel said, bowing his head.

Joffrey hesitated as a man called for the others to go to the battlements. “Ser Boros,” he said. “Ser Mandon, stay with my uncle and represent the king on the field of battle.” Joffrey then turned to Tommen. “Let’s go.” 

Tommen shook his head. “I’m staying here. Someone from the royal family needs to be here. It’s what Father would do.” 

Joffrey scowled at him. “Do as you wish.” He and Lancel left, leaving Tommen alone with his uncle. 

Men continued to shout and Tommen could hear them gathering in the courtyard, looking around in a panic.

“Where is the king? Why isn’t he with us?”

“Who are we fighting for?”

“Who will lead us?”

“I will lead!” Tommen shouted, descending the stairs in his stag armor. He put on his helmet, which his father had once made for him in the likeness of the one he had worn to defeat Rhaegar Targaryen. “Ser Mandon, you will bear the king’s banner.” He then turned to the crowd. “Men, form up! Men! You would call me a child, yet here I am before you to fight. What does that make you lot?”

“The only way out is through the gates,” a man shouted. “And they’re at the gates.”

“There’s another way out and my uncle and I will show you. Get them from behind.”

They could hear the battering ram pound against the wooden gate. 

“Do not fight for the king,” Tommen shouted. “Don’t fight for the kingdoms. Don’t fight for honor. Don’t fight for glory. Don’t fight for riches, for they are no use if you’re dead. This is your city Stannis means to sack! This is your home. This is the place where you raise your children, tend to your mothers, and find your livelihood. That’s your gate Stannis is ramming. If he gets in, it will be your houses he burns, your gold he steals, and your women he rapes.” 

The ramming grew louder. 

“This is our home and we will protect it from those who would destroy it, those who think that killing a brother is a noble sacrifice.” Tommen drew his sword and raised it.”Those men knocking at our door will not treat your home or families with care! Protect King’s Landing! Protect it from those who wish to see us burn!” 

The men cheered and raised their swords as well. Tommen’s heart thundered in his chest. He was the fury. He was the fury. He would not let the people his father tried so hard to protect die for no other reason but being born in King’s Landing. 

—

Their grandfather had come from Casterly Rock just in time. While Tommen knew that his grandfather held no love for what Joffrey had done to their family, he knew that any who held the Lannister name or had Lannister blood would be killed by Stannis if given the chance. 

“I, Joffrey of House Baratheon, first of my name, the rightful King of the Andals and the First men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby proclaim my grandfather, Tywin Lannister, the savior of the city, the Hand of the King.” 

It was a show, to make it seem like House Lannister didn’t have cracks. But Tommen knew the truth. He had been there when his Grandfather had bowed before Aunt Celia and presented her with a lock of curled red hair. 

Eddie was dead. 

His aunt’s screams, as Lady Avari held her up so that she might not collapse to the floor, were worse than the men burning. His aunt’s tears hurt more than the blows that he had taken upon the battlefield. Her cries pierced his heart deeper than any arrow had pierced his armor. 

Eddie was dead. 

And for what? Because Tommen’s mother had no loyalty to Tommen’s father. Because his mother and brother desired power. Because they hadn’t let their family return to Casterly Rock. 

Eddie was dead. 

Eddie was dead. 

Tommen’s grandfather bowed as he accepted the Hand’s brooch. “Thank you, your grace.” 

Although it would have been proper for him to stay, the Old Lion returned to the Maidenvault where Aunt Celia had locked herself away, her grief too powerful to show to the masses. 

They did not know that Sansa was gone.

“Lord Petyr Baelish,” his brother continued. “Step forwards.” The oily man stepped forward and knelt before Joffrey. “For your good service and ingenuity in uniting the Houses of Lannister and Tyrell, I declare that you shall be granted the castle of Harrenhal with all its attendant lands and income to be held by your sons and grandsons from this day until the end of time.” 

The mockingbird bowed. “You honor me beyond words, your grace. I shall have to acquire some sons and grandsons.” 

This got the crowd to laugh.

“Ser Loras Tyrell,” Joffrey called. The flower knight stepped forward from the crowd. “Your house has come to our aid. The whole realm is in your debt, none more so than I. If your family would ask anything of me, ask it, and it shall be yours.” 

The flower knight inclined his head. “Your grace, my sister Margaery, her husband was taken from us before… She remains innocent. I would ask that you find it in your heart to do us the great honor of joining our houses.” 

It was smart, Tommen thought, to not bring up that Lady Margaery was their uncle’s widow. 

“Is this what you want, Lady Margaery?” Joffrey asked.

The lady stepped forward. She was beautiful, Tommen had to admit, but it was a beauty and grace that seemed practiced, and not natural in the way it was for other women that Tommen had seen. “With all my heart, your grace. I have come to love you from afar. Tales of your courage and wisdom have never been far from my ears and those tales have taken root deep inside me.” 

Tommen looked up if only to keep himself from rolling his eyes completely. He was, afterall, rather visible from where he stood.

“I, too, have heard tales of your beauty and grace, but the tales do not do you justice, my lady. It would be an honor to return your love, but I am promised to another. A king must keep his word.” 

Tommen’s hands tightened into a fist.

“Your grace,” their mother said. “In judgment of your small council, it would be neither proper nor wise for you to wed the niece of a man beheaded for treason, a girl whose cousins are in open rebellion against your throne as we speak. For the good of the realm, your councilors beg you to set Sansa Lannister aside.” 

The people did not know that Sansa was already gone.

“Margaery!” someone in the crowd shouted. “We want Margery!”

Joffrey stood and gestured for the crowd to quiet their murmuring. “I would like to heed your wishes and the wishes of my people, but I took a holy vow.” 

“Your grace,” Maester Pycelle said. “The gods do indeed hold betrothals as sacred, but your father, blessed be his memory, made this pact before the Starks revealed their falseness.” It was a lie. Tommen’s father had never agreed to such a betrothal. “I have consulted with the High Septon and he assures me that their crimes against the realm free you from any promise you have made to them in the sight of the gods.” 

“The gods are good,” Joffrey said. “I am free to heed my heart. Ser Loras, I will gladly wed your sweet sister. You will be my queen and I will love you from this day until my last.”

The crowd began to applaud. 

They did not know that Sansa was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommen is truly Robert’s son isn’t her?
> 
> Our precious baby 😭
> 
> And, to be honest, I didn’t realize u had written about Celia losing her children from Tommen’s POV both times, but I honestly didn’t want to write that out because it would have WRECKED me. Completely.


	81. Joy V

Joy sat in the lesson room of Casterly Rock as Avari ended her lessons on High Valyrian. Sansa was the one who had a gift with languages, having taken her studies seriously since they were children. However, Joy was still fascinated by them, especially High Valyrian and its connection to the Targaryen mindset. 

“ _ Valar morghulis _ ,” Lady Avari said, ending the lesson as she always did. 

“ _ Valar dohaeris _ ,” the children spoke back to her, packing up their notes and their book to head to wherever it was they were needed next. Joy, however, kept behind. 

“Lady Avari,” Joy said, going to the woman. 

“Yes?” Avari was putting away her own teaching materials. 

“Why are those two statements given together?” she asked. “ _ Valar morghulis _ and  _ valar dohaeris _ ?  _ All men must die _ and  _ all men must serve _ . Why are they used together?”

Avari smiled and motioned for Joy to pull up a seat. “ _ Valar morghulis _ was a popular saying in Old Valyrian, back when the dragon lords still roamed the world and it was more than just the Targaryens who could claim such immense power.”

“But aren’t Old Valyrian and High Valyrian the same?”

“They are close, but some phrases and sayings came out later that the Valyrians did not think to communicate within their own culture. And that’s where  _ valar dohaeris  _ comes in.”

“How so?”

“All men must die,” Avari said. “Was originally a battle cry free Valyrian dragon lords who sought to control Essos and those who lived there. They viewed their cause as righteous and thus the men they thought were meant to die. For, in their minds, the dragon lords were greater than mere men and their deaths were not certain.”

“And then  _ all men must serve _ ?” 

“That came from the Essosi who were conquered. At first it was said by the slaves who were taught that they were mere men and meant to serve their masters, the Valyrians or whoever it is that they are serving. However, once the Doom happened and slavery began to consolidate, the idea of  _ all men must serve _ was barely used since the masters obviously did not serve. However, when slaves escaped to what is now known as the Free Cities, the idea that  _ all men must serve  _ had new meaning. Men, both rich and poor, young and old, must all serve to better their community and their homes so that it will be better for their children and their children’s children for  _ all men must die _ .”

“So before they die,” Joy began. “They must serve so that those that follow will have less issues?”

Avari smiled. “Exactly. The meaning evolved overtime, true, but it still has meaning.” Avari tucked Joy’s hair behind her ear. “However, what matters most is how you interpret these words and how you choose to live by them. If one only thinks that  _ all men must die _ , then what’s the point for are we not all men?”

“Well,” Joy said blushing. “ _ We  _ are not men.”

“Then does that mean we are not equal? Are we better than? Lesser than? If we are better, then are we above serving? If we are lesser, then do we have a right to speak into our own future or those of our family?”

Joy frowned and tried to think. “I don’t know.”

Avari chuckled. “You still have time to figure that out,” the woman said. “Now, run along to your sewing lesson.”

Joy stood and curtsied. “Yes, my lady.”

—

Joy, Arya, Hot Pie, and Gendry made their way through the shadowed lands, trying to head North, or even to the Riverlands in hopes of finding some of the Starks. Something briefly blocked the sun and Joy looked up to see the red and white haired man standing atop a steep cliff. 

“How did he find us?” Hot Pie asked. 

“How did he slip from his post?” Gendry countered. 

And they continued to move towards him, he suddenly disappeared. Just as suddenly, he was with them on the ground next to Arya, who had wandered just ahead of them. Joy went to be next to her friend, but Gendry stopped her. 

“I don’t trust him,” the older boy said. 

“He helped us escape though,” Joy said. “Didn’t he?”

“He’s a murderer,” Gendry reasoned. 

“All soldiers are murderers,” Hot Pie countered. “Besides, he can’t be too bad if he helped children escape that place. Afterall, we were the youngest people there when we arrived. Perhaps he did not want children to be murdered.”

“I still don’t trust him,” Gendry repeated. 

Joy pulled her arm from Gendry’s hold and went to Arya who had begun to walk away with the man, Jaqen. 

“The girl has many names on her lips,” she heard the strange man say. Joffrey, Cersei Tyrion Lannister, Ilyn Payne, the Hound. Names to offer up to the Red God. She could offer them all, one by one.”

“I want to,” Arya said and Joy narrowed her eyes. The two girls caught sight of one another and Arya looked away. “But I can’t. I need to find my brothers and mother. And my cousins. I need to find them too.”

“Then we must part,” Jaqen said. “A man has duties as well here.” He pulled from his sleeve a coon and gave it to Arya. 

“What is it?”

“A coin of great value.”

“Could it buy a horse?” Arya asked. “Three?”

Jaqen chuckled. “It is not meant for buying horses.”

“Then what good is it?”

“If the day comes when you must find me again, just give that coin to any man from Braavos and say these words to him,  _ valar morghulis.” _ He began to turn and walk away. 

“Please don’t go, Jaqen,” Arya said, stepping towards him like a moth to a flame. 

“Jaqen is dead,” the man said. “Say it.  _ Valar morghulis. _ ”

“ _ Valar morghulis _ ,” Arya repeated. 

“Good.”

“ _ Valar dohaeris, _ ” Joy said then, the memory of Avari’s teaching echoed in her head. 

The man’s strange eyes turned to her. “A lady knows High Valyrian,” he said, a smirk upon his lips. 

“You say that men must die,” Joy said. “But who do you serve?”

“Those who have long since thought that working in the shadows is the best way to serve. For kings who do not serve have never lived long under our watch when those they serve call for us.” He turned and bowed his head. A change came over him, his hair turning brown and when he looked at them again, his face was completely different. “Farewell, Arya Stark.”

Joy’s heart dropped to her stomach. 

It was a Faceless man. 

—

“I’m trying to understand,” Gendry said as they walked through the forest. They all had weapons of some sort drawn, with Hot Pie parting with a small knife for Joy to carry, even so, she was placed in the middle of the group, as though they knew she would be of very little help if they were found. 

“Would you please shut up about it?” Arya growled as they continued forward. 

“Jaqen H’ghar offered your three kills,” Gendry continued. 

“I’m not listening,” Arya said, signing the words ever so slightly. 

“But explain it to me,” Gendry reasoned. “He offered to kill any three people you wanted. Dead. All you had to do was give him names. Anyone. You could have picked King Joffrey.”

“Shut up.”

“You could have picked Tyrion Lannister.”

“Jaqen got us out of Harrenhal,” Arya snapped. “So why are you complaining?”

“But you could have ended the war,” Gendry reasoned. 

“No,” Joy said. “It would only make Aunt Cersei more angry. Tommen might be able to temper his mother, but it was likely that she wouldn’t. And Joy wondered if the Starks would stop the fighting until their family was returned to them.

Arya stopped. “Which direction are we doing?”

“We’re heading to the North,” Gendry replies. 

Arya sighed. “If we were going North, we should have come to the Red Fork River by now.”

“Maybe we passed it?” Hot Pie offered. 

“It’s a hundred feet wide,” Joy pointed out. “I don’t think it’s possible to pass.”

“Why are we looking for that river?” Gendry said, exasperated. 

“If we hit the Red Fork, we can follow it west to Riverrun. My mother grew up there and my grandfather’s the lord there. He’ll protect us.”

Before anyone could say anything, the sound of distant singing came to their ears. 

“Could be a minstrel,” Gendry said cautiously. 

“Shut up,” Arya said, obviously trying to listen. 

“ _ A lion still has claws… _ ”

“A minstrel’s got gold sometimes,” Hot Pie said as they wandered near the voices. “We could jump him, tie him up, steal his gold, and buy some food.”

“Shh,” Arya hushed. 

They all crouched behind a broken wall and watched as a handful of men approached, one of them singing. 

“ _ And so he spoke, and so he spoke _

_ That Lord is Castamere _

_ But now the rains  _

_ Weep o’er his hall _

_ With no one there to hear. _ ”

An arrow whistled by their heads and Joy clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming as it embedded itself into a tree trunk behind them. They all moved quickly to stay better out of sight. 

“What's lurking behind that wall!” the man who had been singing asked. “A lion? A wolf?”

“Just a dirty little cub, I think,” a second man said. 

“Loose a few more shafts,” the first countered. 

Arya stepped out quickly, still holding her sword. “Don’t.”

“Put the sword down, girl,” the first man said. 

“You go on down the road,” Arya said, her voice only trembling slightly. “Just keep on singing so we know where you are. Leave us be and I won’t kill you.”

“Generous,” the second man said. 

“You’re a dangerous person,” the first man laughed. “I like dangerous people. But why are your friends so shy?”

“What friends?” Arya said hesitantly. 

“The fat boy to your left and the lad and lady beside him.”

Gendry sighed and pulled Joy and Hot Pie out from behind the wall, however he had Joy grip the back of his shirt tightly so she could stand behind them. Even so, all three continued to brandish their weapons. The man who seemed to be the leader motioned with his hand and more men appeared, although none drew their weapons. 

“Four young ones on the run carrying castle-forged weapons,” the first man, the leader, said. “You escape from Harrenhal?”

“Who are you?” Joy asked. 

“Thoros of Myr, my lady,” he said with a mock bow. “And the fellow here with the bow is Anguy.”

“No,” Arya said. “Who do you fight for?”

“The Brotherhood without Banners,” Thoros said. “Now come along. I want to hear how two boys, a lady, and a very dangerous girl escaped Harrenhal.”

“I’m not going with them,” Hot Pie said. “The Brotherhood? That’s who they were looking for. They’ll bring us back and put rats in us.”

“You’ve got nothing to fear from us, son,” Thoros said. “The lords of Westeros want to burn the countryside. We’re trying to save it. Now, come on. We’ll talk some more over bread and stew. And then you can go on your way.”

“And if we don’t want to go with you?” Joy asked. “Forgive us, sers, if we do not trust you.”

“Here’s the thing, sweet lady,” Anguy said, lifting his bow and shooting an arrow into the sky. “When I’m done talking, that arrow’s going to fall down on your pretty head. So I advise you to move because I’m done talking.”

Gendry turned, grabbing Joy and letting them fall away from where she stood and an arrow fell at their feet, right where Joy had been standing. 

—

The tavern was lively and there was a bunch of drinking and laughing. 

“I never liked the skinny ones,” a man said. “Like drinking from a puddle. Not that I'm averse to drinking from a puddle every now and again, you understand.”

Even though Joy still wasn’t properly speaking to Gendry, she clung to his arm tightly as Thoros sat them all down to eat. He began to pour Arya a drink. 

“I don’t drink ale,” Arya said stiffly. 

“There’s no story so good a drink won’t make it better,” Thoros reasoned. 

“Aye!” one of the men shouted. 

“You see?” he said. “They've all suffered through my bouts of sobriety. It's very tedious for all concerned. Now, how did four children—”

“We're not children,” Arya said sternly.

Thoros smirked. “How did four young persons such as yourselves, untrained in the art of war, escape from Harrenhal?

“Gendry’s a smith,” Joy said, clinging to his arm. She did not think it wise to say a Faceless Man helped them. “He was apprenticed in the armory. He got us out.”

Arya glared at her. 

“A smith, eh?” Thoros asked. “Where’d you train?”

“King’s Landing,” Gendry replied stiffly. “Tobho Mott’s shop.”

“That criminal,” Thoros snickered. “He charged twice as much as every other armorer in the city.”

“That's because he's twice as good.”

Thoros threw his head back and laughed. “A smith and a salesman.”

“Gendry stole us weapons,” Arya said. 

“Aye?” the man said, his voice playful, as though he were spinning a web around them. “Fought your way out of Harrenhal, I see.”

“He knows how to use a sword,” Arya said. “And so do I.” The men began to laugh, but Arya scowled. “My brothers taught me.” The men continued to laugh and Arya's face grew thunderous. She stood and drew her sword, pointing it at Thoros’ throat. 

The man looked at the blade, unimpressed. For a moment it looked like he was going to take a drink, but he raised the hilt of his own sword, knocking at Needle and disarming Arya completely. Her eyes grew wide and Arya stepped back as the men around them continued to cheer. Thoros took some drunken steps, but relented the acting before rejoining them with more ale. “To your brothers!”

Agra’s ears turned pink as she silently picked up her weapon and sat back down at their table. 

“You can finish your meals before you go,” Thoros said. “It may be awhile before you see another.”

“You'll free us?” Joy asked quietly. 

He smiled gently at her, almost like how Uncle Jaime would. “I gave you my word.” The four of them stood and so did Thoros. “But before you go, allow me to raise a cup to your—”

He was interrupted by the door of the inn opening and in came Anguy with more of the brothers and a large hooded figure, a captive. The men were smiling as the others cheered. 

“Now that is an uncommonly large person,” Thoros said, grinning at his men. “How does one manage to subdue such an uncommonly large person?”

“One waits for him to drink until he passes out,” Anguy said back, looking rather proud of himself. 

“Poor man,” Thoros said. “You have my sympathies.” He went over and removed the man’s hood. 

It was the Hound. 

Joy’s eyes widened and she turned from the man and saw that Arya had done the same. 

“Not a man at all!” Thoros laughed. “A hound!”

The men began to howl in jest. 

“So good to see you again, Clegane,” he said. 

“Thoros?” the Hound said, his voice laced with confusion. “The fuck you doing here?”

“Drinking and talking too much,” he said. “Same as ever.”

The four began to try and leave, trying to go unnoticed in the revelry. 

“A pretty prize, lads,” Thoros cheered along with the others. 

“Girl,” the hound said and Arya froze, but Joy tried to pull her along but the other girl looked back. 

“What in the seven hells are you doing with the Stark bitch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be an Arya chapter, but I needed the first section of the chapter so it became a Joy POV


	82. Jon V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure you read the last chapter! I’m sure plenty of you did, there just wasn’t that many comments so I don’t want any of you guys to accidentally miss anything ❤️

They were outside the keep of Harrenhal. It was strange to think that Jon and his family had Whent blood running through their veins, that this keep had once been run by those who they would claim as family.  _ Family, duty, honor _ . But the Whents were gone and this was where the tragedy of their house had begun. This was where the infamous tourney had taken place. The one where their Aunt Lyanna had caught the eye of Prince Rhaegar and where their Aunt Celia had first laid eyes upon Uncle Jaime. 

“We should set the siege lines a thousand yards from Harrenhal,” Roose Bolton said. 

Robb shook his head. “There won’t be a siege,” he said. “These men are more sellswords than Lannister soldiers. I doubt any of the men here can defend it well or with the same amount of honor and duty that those who have always followed the lions might.” 

“I imagine they will defend whatever Tywin Lannister tells them to defend if he pays them well enough.” 

“Tyrion Lannister,” Jon corrects. “Lord Tywin was in Casterly Rock last time we heard and if he is focusing his energy anywhere it is on King’s Landing.” 

“Besides,” Robb added. “The Lannister soldiers have been running from us since Oxcross. I’d love to fight and I know the men would too. However, I don’t think we’ll be getting one. The less bloodshed we have, the better.”

And that was when they began to advance

—

Jon grimaced at the sight of the scattered bodies upon the grounds of the courtyard. Whatever prisoners held had been killed, either to save resources for the retreating troops or because they had known too much. Either way, this was more death than Jon cared to see. It was not the deaths found upon the fields of battle where one might find some purpose in dying. This was pointless death that served no purpose at all. These men could have lived, should have lived. Jon came across a young boy that was no older than Rickon and he forced himself to look away. 

“Two hundred Northmen slaughtered like sheep,” Rickard Karstark said. The anger and bitterness in his voice was harsh and Jon could feel it in his very soul.

“The debt will be repaid, my friend,” Roose Bolton said. “For them and for your sons.” 

“Will it? They will rot in the ground while their killers run free.” 

“My uncle did not kill your sons, Lord Karstark,” Jon said. “You would do well to remember that it was sellswords employed by the false king Joffrey that killed your son, not Ser Jaime Lannister himself.” 

“If he had not lived, perhaps the Lannisters would not be so keen to fight us,” the old lord said. 

“If my father had lived, perhaps we would not be fighting,” Jon answered harshly. “We have all lost things in this, my lord. Do not think yourself so special that you are the only one to have lost someone.”

Jon caught sight of his twin brother and their mother walking through the courtyard and Jon bowed his head to the two lords and went to join his family. 

“A Mallister?” Robb asked, motioning his head towards the sigil upon one of the fallen men’s chest. 

“Ser Jeremy,” their mother said quietly. “My father’s bannerman. His son would dance with your Aunt Celia at feasts… There had been talks of a betrothement before the rebellion… before he was killed during the Battle of the Bells.” 

Jon wondered how many of his own friends had been killed during this war. He wondered how many he thought lived but were now dead there were. Their forces were spread out and word could not travel so easily, not when the enemy might find the letters and use them for personal gain. He could not imagine, did not wish to imagine, how many lives would be lost by the time all of this was over. 

“Find my mother and brother a chamber,” Robb said. “Make sure they remain guarded. 

Jon glared at his twin for not allowing their mother to grieve a little. This was the house of her mother, their grandmother. He should allow her a moment to remember better things and better days. Even so, Jon offered his arm to his mother and she took it as they were led away. He turned his head to look back at Robb and saw Lady Talisa beside him, speaking to him quietly. Robb’s gaze met Jon’s, but Jon turned his eyes forward, leading their mother to the chamber they would reside in, glorified prisoners. 

—

Jon was surprised when Robb called him to his personal chambers. “You asked for me, my king?” 

“Don’t do that,” Robb said. “You of all people can call me by my name.”

“Can I?” Jon asked. “I hardly know you anymore. You know releasing Uncle Jaime was the right thing. Aunt Celia needs him, especially if the news we heard is true.” 

Whispers of Eddie’s death had reached the Stark camp right before the taking of Harrenhal. At the news, Jon’s mother had fallen to her knees sobbing. Jon had lost his footing as well, stumbling until he was leaning against a tent post. Little Eddie, named after Jon’s father. Little Eddie, who had dreams of being a brave knight. Little Eddie, who clung to Jon’s trousers begging to be told another story, to hear more of the North. Little Eddie, who would grow no more. 

“That is not the point.” 

“No, but it might end this war or get Lord Tywin on our side financially.” 

“I didn’t call you here to argue with you,” Robb said. 

“Then what did you call me here for.” 

Robb held up a handkerchief. “What do you make of this?” 

Jon took the fabric from his brother’s hand and examined it. It was a golden hill with a red lion, although crudely, embroidered upon the scrap of the fabric. It honestly couldn’t be called a handkerchief. But what was especially noticeable about the embroidery were the two letters.  _ JH. _

“Joy,” Jon said quietly. 

“I’ve had men search through the bodies,” Robb said, his voice cracking. “There are no girls that match Joy’s description, which means she might have escaped.” 

“She wouldn’t be able to do that on her own.” 

“No,” Robb agreed. “She wouldn’t. I don’t think she was alone. Uncle Jaime said that some of the others were able to escape King’s Landing before Father’s arrest. That would have been everyone besides Sansa and Joanna.” The mention of Jon’s red-haired cousin caused his heart to flutter slightly. “Arya might have been here as well. I sent for men we can trust to look for her and they came back with nothing. I sent three men to search for three days, but if they find nothing, then they are too far for us to find.” 

Jon nodded, gripping the fabric tightly in his hand. 

“Pardon me, your grace,” Roose Bolton said.

“My lord,” Robb said, nodding his head.

The Northern lord held up two raven scrowls. 

“Shall I guess which one is good news?” Robb asked. 

“It’s word from RIverrun and Winterfell.” 

—

They watched as their mother sat in the archway of the courtyard. Their mother had always been strong but there had been so many losses recently and Jon knew that he and his brother could only understand and comfort her so much. 

“He seemed fine the last we saw him,” their mother said quietly. “I… I suppose some foolish part of me thought he would live forever.” 

“We’ll travel to the funeral together,” Robb said. “Lord Bolton will garrison here until we return.” 

“Will I be wearing manacles when I lay my father to rest?” their mother asked softly, although there was a hard edge to her voice. 

Jon glared at his brother, but knew that there was more on his mind.

“There’s something else?” their mother’s voice dripped with worry and Jon wished to hug her, but was not sure if it was for her sake or his own. 

“Bolton’s bastard, Ramsay, has gone to Winterfell to check on how things are, bringing some of the men left behind in the Deadfort to support our men left behind. Rickon and Lyanna are fine, but there have been more raids from wildings.”

“And?” 

Jon closed his eyes. “Bran is missing. Rickon sent word to him about Uncle Jaime being released, but word was sent back that Bran has disappeared over the Wall. Uncle Benjen is missing too.” 

Their mother choked on a sob and covered her mouth with her hand. 

“And Arya?” she begged. “Has Theon sent word at all?”

Robb shook his head. “None at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s hard to believe we’re in the third book/season if canon! 😱


	83. Jaime XXI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, but I hope it’s worth it.

They were in Casterly Rock, the grey stones and the red drapes. The fox fur and the linens. Celia was curled into his side, their children young and innocent of the world’s terrors. All too young to be all together as they were. 

Mya’s hands were smooth of calluses, her hair in the long braid she used to wear to look more like Celia. She wore Baratheon yellow and black, her hand curled and her eyes peaceful, not yet knowing the loss of Robert. 

Arthur was untidy as always as he slept, his blond hair ruffled and his shirt open, his chest clear of any scar. His cheeks were still round with youth and his brow free of any lines and his hands soft and tender. 

Sansa was curled in on herself, as she usually was. Her red hair fanned out behind her and a stuffed white wolf wrapped in her arms as she dreamed, her lips curled into a soft, blissful smile that was only ever brought on by a good dream. 

Joy wore her hair similar to Celia’s as well, her gentle blonde curls making her look like a sleeping princess almost. She wore Lannister red with yellow flowers upon her sleeve. Peaceful, as she had been before she knew the loss of a parent. 

Joanna was at Jaime’s other side, her thumb in her mouth as she snuggled to him. Her breathing was steady and perfect and Jaime felt like crying at the ease of it. His baby girl. His little princess. 

Eddie was between Jaime and Celia, his hands firmly holding both of his parents. His son’s ginger girls were just as much a mess as his brother’s, but they still had the youthful spring of them and his cheeks were as kissable as they were the day he was born. 

There was another child too, one he did not recognize, one whose features were ever changing. Red hair, blond hair. Tanned skin, pale skin. Tully features, Lannister features. Boy, girl. Jaime’s heart ached at the sight of them, yet he longed for it still. Longed for the babe he would never have the chance to hold. But here, they were at Celia’s breast, lovingly held and cherished as they should have been. 

His family was safe and whole and innocent of all things. 

He turned his focus onto Celia. She was as she was the day they married, when he was a fool and uncaring to her tender heart and her loveliness that deserved the affections of a man much more worthy than him. And yet… he could still recall the way she looked, even now. The way her red hair spilled across their bed like a river kissed by fire. The way her skin glowed like porcelain whenever the moonlight flooded their rooms. The slight turn of her nose. The way her lips remained parted, ever so slightly, in her sleep. Her freckles. His precious wife, his Celia. His… His everything. 

He was so close to returning to her. He was so close to being in her arms once more and Jaime could not breath for longing to be as they were now, surrounded by their children, before anything had happened, before they were forced to suffer their heartbreak. 

Jaime closed his eyes in his dream and wished that he would wake up and this would be his reality. 

—

“Why?” Lady Brienne had been silent up until that point. “Why would you help me?”

He looked to her for a moment before turning to set the fire. “I know that face,” Jaime said, without her even having to expand upon her question. Lady Brienne was watching him, she had been since he helped her bury the bodies of the three girls who had served Lannister soldiers. He had known that expression once before from Ned, from people in the street when they saw the golden hand or the lion emblazoned upon his chest. “I’ve seen it for the past seventeen years or so. Face after face. Despise mixed with awe and confusion.” She looked at him with her wide blue eyes. They reminded him of Eddie’s eyes and Mya’s, innocence and a storm all at once. “Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man without honor.” 

The words still hurt him, that strangers would speak of him in whispers. He could remember his children, each and every one of them coming to him at one point or another asking what it meant when a minor lord or another soldier called him by those names. He recalled Sansa’s tears as she got so very angry on his behalf, demanding that the men take back their words for her father was brave and gentle and strong and Jaime had to hold her and kiss the tears away until she was soothed. 

Jaime tossed in another log. “Have you heard of wildfire?”

“Of course,” the lady knight said carefully.

“The Mad King was obsessed with it,” he said in a low whisper, sitting down. He scratched at his beard as he looked at the flames, remembering the boy he had been. By the gods, the girl before him and Arthur were as old as he was when it all happened. How could the silver prince have let him alone like that? How could any of his sworn brothers leave him alone with that man, with the extra duty of protecting Princess Elia and her children? He would never ask that of his son. Never ask it of even the most experienced soldier, much less a child. “He loved to watch people burn. Their skin blackened and blistered and melted off their bones. I can still see Lord Rickard Stark struggling against his ropes. I can still hear his screams echoing in my head. The Mad King burned lords he didn’t like, Hands who disobeyed him, he burned and killed anyone who was against him. Before long, half the kingdoms were against him. The other half refused to fight for him and those who did, did so for the sake of others, not for their loyalty to him. Aerys saw traitors everywhere, especially in the end.” Lady Brienne’s eyes were wide and watching as though she could see the flames flicker green too. “So, he had his pyromancer place caches of wildfire all over the city. Beneath the Sept of Baelor, the slums of Flea Bottom, under houses, stables, taverns, even the Red Keep itself.” He paused. He shouldn’t be telling her any of this. He should quietly accept her scorn, but he was so very tired and missed the people who saw him as more. 

“Finally, the day of reckoning came. Robert marched to the capital after his victory at the Trident. But my father got there first, the whole Lannister army at his back, promising to defend the city against the rebels. My father might be different now, but then even I knew my father better than that. He was never one to pick the losing side unless he felt compelled to protect his own interests, at least in the past. I told the Mad King not to trust him. I urged him to surrender  _ peacefully.  _ To barter for peace in exchange for safe passage to his remaining children and to his son’s widow and children. But the king didn’t listen to me. Didn’t listen to Varys who tried to warn him. But he did listen to Grand Maester Pycelle.” The mention of the man made his skin crawl. The bloody useless man who had once been in his father’s pocket and then his sister’s. “ _ You can trust the Lannisters,  _ he said.  _ Lannisters have always been true friends of the crown.  _ Before the king raped my mother, before he betrayed his childhood friend’s trust, before he mocked my mother in her death, before he made me a Kingsguard to rob my father of the heir he wanted… So, Aerys opened the gates and my father sacked the city.”

The slight judgment in the girl’s expression softened and her eyes widened in horror instead.

“So, once again I came to the king, begging to surrender. I was a boy then with no authority save for being the only one to wear a white cloak left in the keep. I begged him to let this end, to… to think of his legacy. In reply, he told me to bring him my father’s head. Then he.. He turned to his pyromancer and…  _ Burn them all _ , he said.  _ Burn them in their homes, burn them in their beds. _ ” 

Jaime looked her in the eyes. “Tell me, if your precious Renly commanded you to kill your own father and stand by while thousands of men, women, and children burned alive, would you have done it? Would you have kept your oath then? As you listened to the screams below and within the keep. Could you stand the screaming?” Jaime closed his eyes. “First I killed the pyromancer and then when the king turned to flee, I drove my sword into his back.  _ Burn them all _ , he kept saying.  _ Burn them all. _ ” He took a shuddering breath. “I don’t think he expected to die. He meant to burn the rest of us and rise again, reborn as a dragon to turn his enemies into ash.” Jaime looked up at her. “I slit his throat to make sure that wouldn’t happen. And, if I had known what he had done before… I would have cut off his hands as well. And that was where Ned Stark found me.” 

“If this is true, why didn’t you tell anyone back then?” Lady Brienne asked slowly. “Why didn’t you tell Lord Stark?”

“Do you think honorable Ned Stark wanted to hear my side? The man who murdered his father and brother was dead and he had no place to put his anger. So, he judged me the moment he set eyes on me.”

“But you became close?” 

“After I gave the woman who was like his sister children and proved myself. But that was years in the making. Not many care to look beyond the whispers of a man who betrayed his oaths and ran a sword through the king’s back.” 

“And the queen, your sister?”

Jaime was quiet for a long time. “For the longest time, she was the only thing that made the voices stop.” 

—

Jaime walked through the gate of King’s Landing and breathed it in. This was where his wife was, his daughters were. He breathed it all in. He was not in Casterly Rock, but he was home, for Celia was in the Red Keep and he wished to never leave her side again. 

He turned to Brienne and she smiled at him, slightly. He smiled back. 

—

His father had spoken to him before he went to Celia and he stumbled, grasping at his father’s body like he had as a boy, as tears had flooded his vision. 

Eddie. His boy, his baby boy…

And now, he stumbled to the room where Celia would be alone, Sansa and Joanna away from the dangers of the king’s grasp. He opened the door, not wishing to surprise her. She had her back to him, her red hair sporting a few copper strands, spun into her braid as though placed upon her head on purpose. 

“Celia,” his voice fumbled upon her name, unsure of what else he could say. “Celia.” 

She lifted her head and turned to him. Taking him in, his ragged appearance and unkempt hair and beard, his unwashed body. 

“Jaime,” her voice cracked as she dropped her sewing and ran to him, tears in her eyes as she flung herself into his arms. “Jaime,” she sobbed. 

He held her close as he took shuddering breaths, trying to breath, but only finding gasps of air as he buried his face in her hair and helped her to their knees as he held her close, pulling her as close as he possibly could, not truly believing he had her in his arms, but knowing that it meant his father’s words were true, and that this was not nightmare turned dream. 

“Jaime,” she continued, burying her face in his neck as her hot tears slid down his skin like fire. “Jaime.” 

“Shh…” he whispered. “Shhh…” 

She pulled away from him and held his face in her hands. “Don’t leave me again.” 

Jaime pressed his brow to hers. “The gods themselves will have to take me,” he said, his voice weak from crying. “For I cannot bear another minute without you.”

Celia pressed her lips to his and Jaime kissed her back, complete at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you crying? Because I am.
> 
> check out my new Celiaverse fic [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529187/chapters/64663354)


	84. Celia XXI

It was as though she could breathe again. It was as though she had been in a haze since her children had been gone, since she had lost the baby, since she had Sansa sent away, since her father’s death, since she had lost Eddie. It was as though her whole body was numb to the world around her, like she was floating upon the sea, the water lapping at her body, the salt drying her until she would turn to dust, crumbling beneath all that was weighed upon her. 

But now… now she could breathe again. 

Jaime’s lips were upon her own and she had been without him for so long. It was as though she had finally buckled against the world and Jaime had been given to her by the gods when she needed him most. 

But that is who Jaime was. He always came to her the moment she needed him, when all hope was lost and her spirit was fading against the world’s cruelties. Jaime had always come for her and now that he had returned to where he belonged… Celia never wished to be away from him again. 

They pulled apart slowly, Jaime pressing frantic chaste kisses against her lips as they pulled apart, so that Celia might properly look at him once more. 

He had grown a beard since they had been separated, and his hair had grown long and raggedy. His blond hair had grown darker and greyer. His eyes had dark circles beneath them and was not the boy she had married all those years ago in Casterly Rock. In his place was the man she had fallen in love with over and over again, the man who had loved her and had come back to her with as much determination as ever. 

Jaime put his hand on her cheek and she smiled, putting her hand over his and nuzzled against it gently, letting her lips rub against his calloused skin. 

“I’ve missed you,” Jaime said softly, his words washing over her like a warm bath. 

“I missed you too,” she said gently. 

They kissed again, slowly and surely, Celia leaned against his body and he had to let go of her cheek to balance himself with his only hand on the floor. She stroked his face, memorizing any new features he might have gained since they had been parted, but he was still the same. Still her Jaime. Still her husband. 

She wondered if he found her changed, if he found her taste to be different, her body to be different. She wondered if he could sense the hole within her heart. She wondered if it mattered. He was there, with her, and if this were a dream then she wished to never wake up. Or, at the very least, let her stay like this for an hour more, a day more, a week more. Let them be like this for longer. 

Jaime lowered them until they were on the floor, his back upon the stone as they continued to kiss, finding the ability to breathe again with every press of their lips. 

—

Celia stood beside her husband as he was officially received by Joffrey. Word of Eddie’s death… well, at the very least Joffrey has been persuaded to allow Celia and Jaime a moment to themselves, to allow the grief to say upon them as soon as the euphoria of being brought together again sank into their bodies as they laid together upon the floor, the cold, unfeeling stone beneath them. 

Celia curtsied as Jaime bowed before the boy king. 

“I welcome you, Uncle, back to King’s Landing,” Joffrey said, projecting his voice to the masses of lords and ladies who had come to court that day. “Your duty and actions for our family must be commended.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Jaime said as he straightened and extended his arm so that Celia could hold onto it. Understanding without speaking that she needed to touch him, to reassure herself that he was with her. “I only did what any man would in my own circumstances.”

“We should have a feast,” Joffrey said. “To celebrate your return, Uncle.”

Jaime bowed his head. “I would be honored, your grace.”

Joffrey’s lips parted in a cruel smile and Celia squeezed her husband’s arm. “And know, Uncle, that we are doing all we can to find your children to keep them safe from the dangerous rebels.”

Jaime bowed his head. “Your grace is immeasurable, my king.”

“And you still have a mastery of words,” Joffrey replied. “I had been worried when I heard you were captured by the Northmen. I have heard frightening tales of their barbarity.”

“I was viewed as a valuable prisoner, your grace.”

“And that you were, Uncle. You are, after all, one of the crown’s greatest generals. Which is why you will be needed—”

“Your grace,” Tommen said, stepping forward from his place by Tywin. Joffrey’s gaze darkened as he turned to his brother. “I believe it would be wise to give our thanks to the Seven for our uncle’s return and I believe such a feast to welcome his return shall be splendid. I also think this is proof that the gods have blessed the betrothal between yourself and the Lady Margaery as the official acceptance from the High Septon and the Grand Maester arrived within the hour that our uncle entered the city’s gates. The fact that our uncle is head to celebrate your marriage with us while the Starks scramble to make alliances truly shows how the gods must favor your reign, your grace.”

Tommen’s voice was calm and level, and only those near to him might see the stern gleam in his eyes that reminded Celia so much of Robert. She glanced at Joffrey and saw his face grow red with anger, but he closed his eyes to calm himself before speaking. 

“Exactly, brother,” Joffrey said. “It is why our uncle shall be needed at the future marriage between myself and Lady Margaery. Not only as my uncle but as my greatest general. We shall not be without such an honor.”

Jaime bowed his head. “I would not miss it for the world, your grace.”

—

As Jaime was making proper arrangements for the Lady Brienne to stay in the Red Keep without being looked down at, Celia was brought to have tea with the Lady Margaery and her grandmother, the Lady Olenna. 

Celia had yet to be properly graced by their presence. But it mattered not because she did not trust them. The girl had married Renly and was yet still a maid, which made sense as Celia was no fool and was well aware of Renly’s preferences. Then there was the Lady Olenna, the Queen of Thorns, as she was preferred to be called. Once made to marry a Targaryen and then stole her sister’s suitor. Most had heard of Lady Olenna and her supposed choosing of a Tyrell over a possibly mad Targaryen, but there were rumors that the dragon she had been betrothed to was of the same preferences as Renly. For all the pretense Celia was sure Lady Olenna spouted of not wanting a mad dragon, Celia very much doubted that the woman had not wanted to be part of the royal family. Why call herself the queen of thrones if she was not wanting to bear a similar title. 

“I am so glad that we are able to finally meet, Lady Celia,” Lady Margaery said sweetly. She was a beautiful girl and Celia could see hints of her grandmother in her face, but she was all Tyrell. “I would like to offer my condolences for your father and your youngest son.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Celia said, looking away. “Your condolences mean very much to me.”

Lady Margaery kept her smile upon her lips but Celia could see the way it froze and Lady Olenna’s narrowing eyes. 

“I’m sad that I have yet to meet the Lady Sansa,” the Tyrell girl added. 

“Yes,” Celia said. None knew that Sansa had escaped from the Red Keep during the Battle of Blackwater. For a time they said that she was sick. But now… “However, with my good father and husband and eldest son either in the Red Keep or gone, it was decided that my daughter would act as Lady of Casterly Rock in our absence.”

“You must miss her terribly,” Lady Olenna said. “I could not imagine being separated from my dear Margaery.”

“Well,” Celia said. “We must always allow for the children to spread their wings and experience the freedom we can give them.”

“Of course.”

They were quiet for an awkward moment and Celia drank some of her tea. 

“Tell is about the king,” Lady Margaery said carefully, as easily as one might remark about the weather. “We have heard a great many things about him.”

Ah. So they wished to see if they had placed their bets in the right place. Celia continued to sip her tea. If they had gone the intelligent thing and had gone to the Starks, perhaps they might have married Lady Margaery to Robb, a better match than that planned with the Freys. For a moment, Celia’s heart broke for Jon as he too would be married. She thought of poor Sansa who had been so excited for the match with her Northern cousin. 

“The king is very kind,” Celia said. “Any ill word heard of him is from those in rebellion.” She paused. “If your first husband spoke any unkind word, know that Joffrey once bested Renly in a spar and the man felt wounded that he was beaten by a boy so young.” A lie. It was Arthur who bore that honor. 

Lady Margaery smiled. “I am very happy to hear it.”

—

The second Jaime sank into her, Celia felt while once more. Their fumbling hands and fervent kisses remind her of the early days of when Jaime grew to love her and she learned how satisfying he could be as a lover. 

Celia wrapped her arms around his neck, bulking his body flush to hers as his thrusts attempted to find rhythm, but neither of them cared for such things. They simply wanted to be one, simply wished to be whole again, pretend they were back in their bed at Casterly Rock. That their children were all in the keep safe. 

“Oh, Jaime,” she breathed when he hit just the right spot to get her quivering, squeezing himself slightly, fluttering about him as he grunted. 

“Celia,” he groaned, his voice rough with emotion as she felt hot tears splash against her shoulder. “I thought I would never be able to hold you again.” He lifted his head and nuzzled his brow against her own. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m right here,” she sighed. “I’m right here.”

There were no words spoken after that as the heat of their passion continued to lick at them until they were breathless and sated. 

When they were finished for the second time, Celia rested her cheek against Jaime’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart until she fell peacefully asleep in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I just love Tommen in this!
> 
> And the roses have come to play.
> 
> And the Ceime content y’all have been WAITING for!


	85. Joanna II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! Did you know that this story turns a freaking year old on Friday! Thank you guys for sticking with me through the year! I’m truly amazed at how big the Celiaverse has gotten! I’ve made a bunch of friends through this story too! ❤️

Joanna focused on her stitching, a golden lion and a red trout dancing upon a blue field. She was to send it to her mother, for she had no idea what else she was meant to do. Eddie was dead and she was in Sunspear when she should be in Casterly Rock with her parents and siblings and grandfather, with Eddie. She was supposed to be home. 

There had been whispers that her father had been set free by Aunt Catelyn and then there was another rumor that her father had even returned to the Red Keep. Well, not a rumor, but she heard Prince Doran speaking of it with Prince Oberyn when they thought she was not there. When she had heard mention of her father and the Red Keep, she had rushed as quickly as she could to her room and packed her things, ready to be returned to her father and mother and ready to go home and leave Dorne until she was older. 

However, she sat on her bed for hours until the sun had gone down. It was then that Tyene had come to check on her, worried that she had not come to dinner. When Joanna had learned that she was not to return to her parents she had wept. So much so that the young woman raced for the maester in fear of the affects of her breathing. They had given her milk of poppy to sleep. 

But now she was in the garden hall of Sunspear embroidering, hoping that her mother and father would be pleased so she might be allowed to come back home. She wanted to go home. 

“Joanna.” 

She stood at the voice and curtsied when Prince Doran came in, wheeled in by his wife, Lady Mellario. “Your grace.”

The Dornish prince held up his hand. “No need for such formalities, my lady,” he said. “I know you have been unwell recently.”

Joanna stood regardless, brushing out the nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. “May I help you, your grace?”

“Tyene tells me that you worked yourself to a near panic, my dear,” the man said. “I simply wish to see if you are alright.” 

“I want to go home, your grace,” she said helplessly.

Lady Mellario smiled. “We know, sweet girl, but it is not safe in King’s Landing.”   
“But my father is in King’s Landing,” Joanna insisted. “That makes it safe. My father would never let anyone hurt me.” 

He had to love her. Surely he had to love her. Even if he loved Myrcella more, surely he loved her enough to bring her home.

“Even your older sister is not in the Red Keep,” Prince Doran began and Joanna began to panic. 

“What do you mean Sansa is not in the Red Keep? Where is she?” 

“Your grandfather did not discuss it, no doubt worried that someone might try to learn of her position from our correspondence.” 

“When can I go home then?” 

“Once the conflict between your two families settles, which will hopefully be soon, but your parents do not wish for you to be anywhere near the king.”

Jonanna nodded. Even so, she wished to go home. 

—

Myrcella and Joanna were very similar in appearance. Both had the Lannister look and their grandfather often commented how they looked like their grandmother, never Aunt Cersei, but their grandmother, the woman Joanna was named after. Her father had said as much too, calling her his little lioness, his golden girl. 

But Myrcella was his daughter too. She knew that she wasn’t supposed to listen in when the adults were talking, she was supposed to be asleep, but she had woken up and heard them. Heard her mother and grandfather talking. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen were Father’s children as well. Not Uncle Robert. Joanna had cried herself to sleep at learning it. Her mother had known, but that did not change the hurt Joanna thought her mother must have felt when she learned the truth. Then the thought on if her father had favorites echoed in her head painfully. Arthur was better than Joffrey, there was no concern there. Sansa looked like Mother so there was no real comparison to be had. 

By Joanna compared to Myrcella… The two looked so much alike. However, Joanna was smaller and skinnier. Myrcella was tall and, more than anything, healthy. Myrcella was radiant and beautiful and funny and smart, everything Joanna wasn’t. She wouldn’t be surprised if her father preferred Myrcella more than he preferred her. Who wouldn’t want a daughter who could be just as adventurous as he was? Who wouldn’t want a daughter they didn’t have to constantly worry over? Who wouldn’t want a daughter who wasn’t Joanna?

“You seem deep in thought,” Myrcella said, laying down next to Joanna in her bed. “Princess Arianne said you weren’t feeling well so I’ve come to check on you. Can’t let my favorite cousin wallow here alone, can I? Shall I call for one of the servants to bring us a deck of cards? Prince Oberyn taught me a gambling game. I think he let me win, but that’s neither here nor there.” 

“But we aren’t,” Joanna said, staring at the golden canopy. 

“We aren’t what?” 

“Cousins,” Joanna replied. 

Myrcella was quiet for a moment, only their breaths being the only noise in the ridiculously large room. “Is this about the rumor of Uncle Jaime and my mother?” Joanna didn’t answer. Myrcella sighed and sat up. “Joanna.” When she didn’t turn, Myrcella repeated her name. “Joanna.” She looked this time. “My father is my father and Uncle Jaime is Uncle Jaime. I don’t care what anyone says. Tommen and I are our father, King Robert Baratheon’s children.”

“And Joffrey?”

“Joffrey spawned randomly and I have no clue, but that’s not the point. Uncle Jaime isn’t my father, Joanna. He’s yours.” 

—

_ My dearest Joanna, _

_ I know your grandfather has already written to you about Eddie and I am sorry that I was not the one to send the letter and I pray to all the gods that you never learn what this feels like. However, this is not what the bulk of my letter will be about.  _

_ Your grandfather is attempting to secure a chance for you to go to Casterly Rock and act as the lady of the keep with Avari and Aemon being there with you. He is trying to make these discussions as public as possible, attempting to bully the king into allowing for such a thing. You are the only child of the Lannister name to be found, for good reason. If things can be worked out properly, we might be able to get you home with Aemon and Avari standing with you as you take on the roll as Lady of Casterly Rock.  _

_ I know this is not something you have trained for, sweet girl, but this might be the best way to keep you safe and to get some of the family back together. Your father may be able to be given leave to help you settle so that none might force themselves to use you as a pawn.  _

_ Your grandfather has had all the passageways locked and the gates reinforced so that there is no fear of a siege. My darling, this may be the safest plan for you, however, I will not force you to go to Casterly if you feel it best to stay in Dorne. I know that the Martells are friends of our family and they will never let any harm come to you, I simply must do what I can to protect you.  _

_ I love you, my sweetheart, and I long for when we can be reunited at last.  _

_ Mother _

Joanna got a quill and paper immediately and wrote out her reply.

_ Dearest Mother, _

_ If there is a way for me to return home, then I shall take it.  _

She paused and worried her lip. 

_ However, I have heard rumors of roses blooming within the Red Keep and I fear that being alone in Casterly, even with Lady Avari and Aemon, would leave me vulnerable to unwanted advances, especially since there is one wilted rose who has not been pollinated. A king might wish for more roses as they themselves sink their roots deeper into the gardens of Casterly.  _

_ I shall do as you wish, Mother, all I ask is that I am able to see you or Father as soon as I can. I miss you greatly, but I know that many things are at stake.  _

She wanted to go home, she desperately wished to go home, but what if Joffrey tried something? What if the Tyrells did? Ser Loras was rumored to join the Kingsguard and that left Lord Willas Tyrell to be the only son to be left unmarried and ready for a match. He was so much older than Joanna that she could hardly imagine such a thing, but she did not put it past Joffrey to make such a decision. 

_ If I must stay in Dorne, then I shall stay in Dorne. However, I must warn you Mother, I have heard rumors from the merchants from Essos. Dragons appear to be moving and I fear that they might cast a long shadow. If the realm remains as it is, I do not think we will be able to hande such a situation.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Joanna _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have Joanna’s endgame in mind, but I’ve yet to fully decide on what her romantic endgame will be. I’m tossing around a few ideas. I know she’s young but once this officially finishes (which is probably another year 🤷🏻♀️) I plan on short epilogues about the children and their life’s after the bulk of the main story.   
What do you guys think?


	86. Arya V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made these for the one year anniversary of this fic and the Celiaverse   
[The Lions of Casterly](https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/632058236344909824/the-lions-of-casterly)  
[The Stags of the Red Keep](https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/632066087300857856/the-stags-of-the-red-keep)  
[The Lions of Casterly](url)

Arya sat next to Joy, who was repeating one of the men’s shirts as Gendry helped Thoros put on his armor. 

“If I had a proper forge,” the older boy said. “8 could make it good as new.”

“Doesn’t have to look pretty,” the man said with a chuckle. “It just had to keep the arrows out of my heart.”

“Why are you helping him?” Arya demanded of Gendry. “He takes us prisoner and now he’s our friend?”

“You’re not our prisoner, little lady,” Thoros assured her. 

“What am I then?”

“Our guest,” he answered. “No one’s put any chains on you.”

“So we can walk away, then?” Arya asked. 

Thoros did not answer for a long moment. “These woods aren’t safe for Ned Stark’s

Daughter. You’re lucky we found you.”

Arya huffed and glanced at Joy, who seemed only slightly content to be able to do something. She stood and stormed off, leaving her friends and Thoros behind. She came upon some men leading a bound Hound through the camp. 

“You think you’re good with that bow, you little twat?” he growled to one of the men. 

“Better than anyone you’ve ever met,” the archer replied mockingly. 

Arya doubted it though. Theon was the best archer in all of Westeros. Her father had said so. 

“A coward’s weapon,” the Hound snorted. “I like to fight up close. I like to see a man’s face when I put the steel through him.”

“Why?” the archer asked sarcastically. “So you can kiss him?”

They loaded the Hound into the hooded wagon. He had been there when the Northmen were killed, when all the men brought to the Red Keep with them were slaughtered. Arya burned, anger licking at her stomach like hot coals. 

She watched the wagon leave as Joy and Gendry approached with their rudimentary things. Gendry set his own pack down to rearrange something as Hot Pie approached, holding some bread. 

“What are you doing?” Arya asked. He didn’t look ready to go at all. “We’re about to leave.”

“I’m staying,” Hot Pie replied. 

“You’re what?” Gendry said, mouth agape. 

“You’re not coming with us?” Joy asked quietly. 

“I baked some brown bread for the innkeep and she said she never had better,” Hot Pie explained. “Told Thoros she's keeping me as a payment for all the free meals she's given him. Anyway, it's not me the Brotherhood wants. My brother ain't no king. I'm not a Stark of Winterhell.”

“Winterfell,” Arya corrected. 

Hot Pie frowned. “Are you sure?”

Arya smiled. “I’m sure.”

Hot Pie smiled at her. “I made you something.” He handed Arya the bread he had been holding and Arya took it. The bread looked like an animal, but she wasn’t quite sure what animal it was. 

“What is it?” she asked. 

“It’s a wolf,” he replied. 

“It is,” Joy said, pointing to one end. “Is that the tail?”

“Yeah.”

They were all quiet for a moment. Arya could not imagine the four of them going their separate ways, four turning into three. 

“Be safe,” Gendry said. 

“Yeah,” Hot Pie agreed with a grin. “You too. Don’t get stabbed.”

“You don’t,” Gendry paused. “Burn your fingers.” He pat Hot Pie on the back before picking up his pack to leave. Arya wondered if it was so he could go cry. 

Joy wrapped her arms around Hot Pie’s neck and kissed his cheek. “When this is over and you’re ever near the Westerlands, you know where to find me.”

Hot Pie wrapped his arms around her and held Joy close for a moment. “And if you ever need looking after, you know you can come to me.”

She smiled at him as she let go and went to the horses to be helped onto one by a Brotherhood member. 

Arya stood there for a long moment. “Goodbye, Hot Pie.”

He smiled at her. “Goodbye, Arry.”

She walked away and was helped onto a horse behind one of the Brotherhood members. She took a bite out of the bread as they began to ride away. 

“Hey, Hot Pie!” she called, turning to look back at him. He had just entered the threshold of the inn and he looked at her. “It’s really good.”

Hot Pie smiled proudly before waving and disappearing into the inn.”

—

The Brotherhood rode through the woods with good over Arya’s eyes. She supposed Joy and Gendry were also in the same position as she was. She rode with Thoros, the man smelling like ashes and burnt toast. 

“Can I take this good off yet?” she asked, her voice laced with annoyance. 

“I do apologize, little lady,” the man said. “But it’s better for you if you don’t see where we’re going.”

Some men called for a halt and then began talking with some men who sounded further away. Thoros lifted her hood and pressed a wine skin to her lips. 

“What is it?”

“Blackstrap rum.”

She smelled it and the butter stink permeated her lungs like bad wind. She gagged. 

“Not easy finding molasses in wartime.”

“I’d have some!” Gendry called. 

There was a short exchange and then Thoros muttered, “Let’s go home.”

It felt like forever, but eventually Arya was taken down from the horse and led through a place that got rather chilled. They kept walking until they were ordered to stop. Their hoods were removed and Arya found that they had been brought into a large chamber of what looked like a cave. 

“What is this place?” Gendry asked. 

“Somewhere neither wolves nor lions come prowling,” Thoros answered. 

“You look like a bunch of swineherds,” the Hound muttered. 

“Some of us were swineherds,” the archer, Arya thought his name was Anguy, said. “And some of us tanners and masons. That was before.”

“You’re still swineherds and tanners and masons,” the Hound snorted. “You think carrying a crooked spear makes you a soldier?”

“No.” A man with an eyepatch entered dressed in armor. “Fighting in a war makes you a soldier.”

“Beric Dondarrion?” the Hound questioned. Arya felt like she had heard that name before, but she wasn’t certain. “You’ve seen better days.”

“And I won’t see them again,” the man, Beric, replied. 

“Stark deserters. Lannister deserters. Baratheon deserters,”’the Hound began to list off. “You lot aren’t fighting in a war, you’re running from it.”

“Last I heard,” Beric said. “You were King Joffrey’s guard dog. But here you are, a thousand miles from home. Which of us is running?”

“Untie these ropes and we’ll find out,” the Hound snarled. “What are you doing leading a mob of peasants?”

“Jaime Lannister and Ned Stark bid me to cease Joffrey’s ravage of the Riverlands in King Robert’s name and now we seek the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Ned Stark is dead. King Robert is Dead. Jaime fucking Lannister is a useless cunt with his youngest and the babe dying.” The Hound spat in disgust. 

Arya looked quickly to Joy whose eyes grew round and her mouth agape. Her eyes glistened and her lip began to tremble. Arya went to her friend and held her hand, squeezing it tightly. 

Eddie was dead. 

“You’re fighting for ghosts,” the Hound sneered. 

“That’s what we are,” Beric replied. “Ghosts waiting for you in the dark. You can’t see us, but we see you. No matter whose cloak you wear—Lannister, Stark, Baratheon—you prey on the weak, the Brotherhood without Banners will hunt you down.”

“You found god?” the Hound asked sarcastically. “Is that it?”

“Aye,” the man replied. “I’ve been reborn in the light of the one true god. As have we all. As would any man who's seen the things we’ve seen.”

“If you mean to murder me, then bloody we’ll get on with it.”

“You’ll die soon enough, dog,” Thoros assured the scarred man. “But it won’t be murder, only justice.”

“A kinder fate than you deserve,” Anguy shouted. “None of your lot are true lions. At the Mummer’s Ford, girls of seven years were raped and babes still on their mother’s breast were cut in two while their mother’s watched.”

“I wasn’t at the Mummer’s Ford,” the Hound snapped. “Dump your dead children at some other door.”

“House Clegane was built upon dead children,” Thoros said darkly. “I saw them lay Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys before the Iron Throne

“Do you take me for my brother?” the Hound growled. “The man is dead already. Is being born a Clegane a crime?”

“Murder is a crime.”

“I never touched the Targaryen babes. I never saw them, never smelled them, never heard them bawling. You want to cut my throat, get on with it! But don't call me murderer and pretend that you're not.”

“You murdered Mycah,” Arya said. They all turned to look at her. She held her chin out proudly. “You murdered my father’s household, innocent men whose only crime in the eyes of Joffrey was being Northern.”

“Bleeders the lot of them.”

“You don’t deny killing these men?” Beric asked. 

“I was Joffrey’s sworn shield.”

“They were innocent!” Arya shouted. 

“Not my place to question princes or kings.”

That’s a lie, Arya thought. Her Uncle Jaime questioned kings. Her father questioned kings. 

“You stand accused of murder,” Beric stated. “But no one here knows the truth of the charge, so it is not for us to judge you. Only the Lord of Light may do that now. I sentence you to trial by combat.”

“So, who will it be?” the Hound asked. “Should we find out if your fire god really loves you, priest? Or you, archer? What are you worth with a sword in your hand? Or is the little girl the bravest one here?”

“She might be,” Beric said. “But it’s me you’ll fight.”

—

Thoros looked into the flames, surrounded by the Brotherhood as they made room for the duel between Beric and the Hound. 

“Lord,” the strange man said. “Cast your light upon us.”

“Lord of Light,” the men called together. “Defend us.”

The Hound was unbound, looking agitated and feral. 

“Show us the truth,” Thoros continued. “Strike this man down if he is guilty. Give strength to his sword if he is true. Lord of Light, give us wisdom. For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

“For the night is dark and full of terrors,” the men repeated. 

The Hound readied his sword as Beric, a lord she thought, knelt down before Thoros and offered his hand to the strange man. Thoros sliced open a long gash upon his palm and gave the sword to Beric. The one-eyed man slid his sword across the open wound and flames erupted from the blade. Joy cried out in fear as the Hound stumbled back slightly at the sight. 

The two men then readied for battle, taking up shields as well. Beric was at the clearest advantage, the Hound’s fear of fire legendary. However, after a short moment, the two began to gain equal footing, moving around the open space as men began to cheer their brother on. Beric dodged a blow and shouldered the Hound so he stumbled into a fire, sparks erupting from the contact. The Hound roared in anger and attempted to charge but stumbled onto his knees. 

Thoros pushes Arya away as the fight drew closer to them. Gendry was already standing in front of Joy, her face ashen and her eyes watery as the ashes and heat began to grow. 

The Hound regained his footing and began a brutal onslaught, shattering Beric’s shield. But the lord regained the upper hand and pushed the Hound back with a series of swings carried out with both hands. The Hound fell onto his back and blocked one of Beric’s blows only the shield caught aflame in the process. The Hound began to grow wild in his movements, like a kicked animal finding itself in a corner. 

The men began to chant, thrumming against the air with the clashing steel. 

_ Guilty.  _

_ Guilty.  _

_ Guilty.  _

_ Guilty.  _

_ Guilty.  _

_ Guilty.  _

_ Guilty.  _

_ Guilty.  _

_ Guilty.  _

_ Guilty.  _

_ Guilty.  _

_ Guilty. _

The Hound tried to douse his shield, but it continued to burn. 

“Kill him!” Arya all but screamed. 

After exchanging a few parrying blows, the Hound elbowed Beric in the gut and the one-eyed man stumbled back. The Hound roared and raised his sword bringing it down as Beric blocked it with his flaming sword. However, the Hound was too powerful and broke the sword and cleaved deeply into Beric’s shoulder and torso. Beric’s eyes rolled back and fell to the ground dead. 

Thoros threw himself onto Beric and began to speak quickly. “Lord, cast your light upon this man, your servant. Bring him back from death and darkness. His flame has been extinguished. Restore it.”

The Hound continued to shout, falling to the ground and smashed his shield to the ground trying to kill the flames. 

“For the night is dark and full of terrors. Lord, cast—”

Arya grabbed a dagger from one of the man and began to rush towards the scarred man, screaming. 

“Arya, don’t!” Gendry shouted, grabbing at her as Thoros continued to speak. 

“No!” Arya shouted. “Let go of me! Let me go!”

The Hound laughed harshly at her. “Looks like their god likes me better than your father.”

“Go to hell!” Arya screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. Gendry held her tight to him so that she could not move any further. 

“He will,” a voice came. “But not today.”

Arya turned and saw Beric kneeling by the fire, very much alive. 

—

Arya felt anger burn within her at the fact that the Brotherhood had allowed the Hound to go. She hated that she was not able to go. Arya knew that it would not be safe and she did not want to leave Joy… or Gendry. 

“Did something happen?” she asked Joy as they laid down for the night. The Brotherhood had put them in a private ‘room’ together. “You two have been… weird.”

She just wanted to think of something else, think of anything else. 

Why hadn’t the gods saved her father?

“It’s… It’s nothing,” Joy said, staring up at the ceiling. 

“It can’t be nothing,” Arya insisted. 

“I told him that I liked him,” Joy said quietly. 

“Oh?” Arya’s heart thundered slightly in her chest. It hurt, it was as though someone had squeezed their hand around it.

“Yeah,” Joy answered. 

“And?”

Joy shifted so that she was on her side. “He doesn’t feel the same.”

The pain in Arya’s heart eased and she felt guilty for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mya is getting a POV next!!!!


	87. Mya IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s chapter is a little short because SURPRISE it’s my birthday. Lol!

“I want to be just like you when I grow up, Father,” Arthur said, slashing his sword at the practice dummy like it was butter. “Defeating those who would dare to hurt our house and our smallfolk.”

“If your grandfather and I do our duties right, then you shall not have to worry about defeating those enemies,” Ser Jaime said as he corrected Mya’s stance. She preferred the bow and arrow, but she wanted to be well rounded and her father had sent her a practice sword for her last nameday. “For there shall be no enemies to be had. If we do not make it so, then you hope that you can make so that your own children do not have any enemies that might harm them or your people.”

May snickered as Arthur rolled his eyes in annoyance. “He just wants to fight in a battle,” she told her foster father. “He wants to be like you.”

She didn’t understand why. She could see a bit of his scar poking out of the collar of his shirt. Mya did not wish to see Arthur in such pain ever again. 

“I want to bring glory to our house, Father,” Arthur continued. “And to make you proud.”

“You do make me proud, Arthur. All of you do.” Ser Jaime went to his eldest son and heir and set his hands on Arthur's shoulders. “Do not doubt that for one second.”

Arthur slowly nodded and smiled up at his father. 

Ser Jaime smiled back and then motioned for the two of them to follow him until he was sitting on one of the resting benches of the training yard. 

“I want you two to promise me something,” he said firmly. It was a tone that he rarely used with them, but it was his lord voice. The two children nodded seriously, knowing that whatever they were about to promise was of the utmost importance. “If you two are ever in a situation where you have the option to not kill, take it.”

“What if I was protecting Mother?” Arthur asked. “Or Sansa or Joanna or Joy or Eddie?”

Ser Jaime’s lips twitched into a small smile. “That is different. However, if you have the chance to run away and simply injure, take it.” He shook his head. “Taking a life… it’s the one thing you can’t go back on. It’s the one thing that is an absolute. There’s no going back.”

The two nodded and Ser Jaime smiled, ruffling their hair as he said they could get back to practicing.

—

When Arthur has awoken after the skirmish with the goldcloaks, he hadn’t said a single word. 

Instead he followed Vylarr as they found a place where they might rest next to a lake. 

Arthur had sat upon one of the stones and began to carefully clean his sword, his blue eyes full as he did so. 

It was as though nothing had happened, as though he had not just killed someone. Killed someone so brutally that Mya wondered if the boy’s family would even recognize him. Yet Arthur acted as though there was nothing wrong. 

His knuckles were bloody and blood had splattered across his cheek, his hair matted with sweat and dirt. He looked wild and unkempt, as though he had walked through the seven hells and back again. He looked lost. 

He looked dead. 

“Arthur…” Mya said softly as she drew near him. “Arthur?” She put her hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off. 

“Leave me alone, Mya,” he said darkly, his voice rough, the only thing to betray his frazzled emotions as it wavered ever so slightly at her name. 

“Let me help you,” she said gently. 

He shook his head. “Just leave me alone, Mya,” he repeated forcefully. “I don’t want your help.

She withdrew her hand and simply sat down upon the shore next to him and closed her eyes, wishing there was something she could do. 

—

“He needs time,” Vylarr said as he began to cook their small dinner. 

“What?”

“He needs time.” The older man glanced at Arthur who was sitting on the shore staring out into the water as though he were in a trance. “Killing someone takes a lot out of a man.”

“It did not seem to bother Ser Jaime,” she countered. “It does not seem to bother you.”

“Jaime and I are fathers and husbands. We tire of war and the game of thrones that echoes about us like a bad chorus. Your father was the same. He might have liked war, but he did not like killing and preferred to avoid it when he could. What Arthur did… that boy was dead long before we pulled Arthur off of him and that rage… that is something he will have to work with, live with. Just give him time.”

May glanced at Arthur as he continued to stare out in the distance. He looked so lonely against the setting sun. 

“That’s all we can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the angst!  
The next time we get an Arthur POV will be DARK


	88. Sansa V

She had begun to call him Harry. He had laughed when she did so because that was what most people called him. 

“Then why not introduce yourself like that?” she asked. 

“I did not know you well enough to offer such a name to you, my lady.”

He was a good man, older than her or Arther, but he was still young in comparison to her father. He was handsome too, with golden hair and bright blue eyes. 

Harry made her laugh, which was more than what anyone else had done for her in a long while. She could not even recall the joke, it simply made her smile and then devolve into giggles in a matter of moments. 

He reminded Sansa of the songs and stories her mother had told her, of dashing knights and heroes disguising themselves to rescue a fair maiden. The other men in their party often rolled their eyes at him, so Sansa wondered if he was putting on a show for her sake, but, in the end, it didn’t matter because she felt lighter than she had been for… for only the gods knew how long. 

“Who goes there?” A voice boomed against the mountain rocks. 

“Piss off, Blackfish,” Harry shouted. “You know that we were coming. Stop being so dramatic.”

An older man, about as old as Celia’s grandfather stepped out from what she supposed was his post. Although they were in the Vale, he wore Riverland armor instead of the shinier Vale iteration. Perhaps it was to make him blend into the rocks. 

“Aye,” the Blackfish said. “But I doubt you were able to complete such a task. My great nephew should have sent me instead.”

“There was a battle going on, Blackfish,” Harry said sternly. “I doubt you would have been ready and willing to get in and out quickly for the sake of stealth.”

“If I had gone, I would have gotten my niece out as well,” the Blackfish huffed. 

“If you had gone we might not have gotten either of them out.” Harry paused. “Besides, I would have thought you would be heading towards the Riverlands now.”

“I wished to make sure you got my grand niece here in one piece.”

Harry laughed. “You’ve grown soft, old man.”

The Blackfish snorted but did not argue. He turned his full attention to Sansa then. His eyes reminded her of her grandfather’s and mother’s. A Tully blue. “You look like your mother,” he said. “But you have your father’s eyes.” She smiled at him and he smiled back. “Keep her safe, boy. I will not have you losing her when you’ve only just gotten her.”

“Of course. I swear on my life that I shall not let her fall.” He slid off his horse and went to Sansa. “We must walk part of the way, my lady,” he said. “The horses aren’t not able to make such a climb. We will obtain donkeys soon.”

Sansa nodded and slid off her horse and into his arms, causing her to blush as they wrapped around her to help steady her on her feet. 

“No funny business, Harry,” the Blackfish warned. 

“Jaime Lannister might only have one hand,” Harry said. “But even I am not so foolish as to try anything with his daughter.”

—

“Cousin.”

“Robin.” Sansa rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her cousin’s shoulders. He was still shorter than she was, a year younger than Tommen, but he had always been a little smaller than the other boys his age. But his cheeks had a healthy flush to them. She buried her face in his neck. “It’s good to see you.”

He hugged her back. “And I you.” He pulled away and looked her over. “I hope that Harry and the others treated you well?”

Sansa nodded. “I have never traveled like that before, but I thought that if my brothers could do it, then surely I could as well.”

Robin’s smile slipped from his lips. “Shall we sit in my solar?” he asked. “You must be exhausted. Or shall I show you to your rooms?”

“Solar first,” she said. “I fear I shall fall asleep the second I touch any bed. Besides,” she laughed. “I wish to hear how you have been.”

He smiled softly and offered her his arm and she took it gratefully. “The Vale has been absent from the conflict, I’m afraid, but I am attempting to reestablish power after my father was killed. Many of the lords fear I am too young and my mother too, well. You know how my mother is.l

Sansa nodded. “I do not blame you. You need to think of your people.”

Robin nodded. “I plan on sending the Blackfish and a few other proficient knights out to the Riverlands to help. However, they will not be allowed to wear the Arryn sigil so that the Vale can retain its neutrality. Now that you’re here, we do not want Joffrey or his mother to think that you are here.”

Sansa nodded. “I am sure the Northmen and the Riverlords will be pleased to have as much aid as they can be given.”

“Even so, I wish there were more I could do. At times like this, I wonder what my father would do.”

“He would be proud of you,” Sansa said. “I’m certain of it.” She looked about them. “I am surprised that my brothers or Arya or Mya or Joy have not tried to come here. Perhaps they wish to head North since Winterfell is the furthest from the conflict.”

Robin stopped just outside a door that she assumed was his solar. “Sansa,” he said carefully. “There’s something you need to know…”

“What is it?” His tone worried her. She had never heard Robin so serious, never seen his expression darken as it did. “Robin?”

“We were sent word that your father, that Uncle Jaime was able to return to King’s Landing.”

Sansa smiled in relief. At least her mother and Lady Avari were not alone. Surely her father would protect them. “And why would that cause you to look so dour?”

“There was other news,” he said slowly. 

“What is it?” He did not answer her, shame filling his expression and dread filling her own belly. “Robin, what is it?”

“We received a letter a few days before that.” Robin took her hands in his own. “I’m sorry, Sansa. Eddie… Eddie’s body was sent to be laid to rest in the Lannister catacombs.”

—

Robin guided her to the room she would be staying in so that she might cry privately. 

Sansa has barely managed to close the door behind her before she began to sob helplessly into her hands. She leaned against the door and slid down, unable to even make it to her bed. She pulled her knees to her chin and buried her face there as she sobbed. 

Eddie. Her sweet baby brother. Her sweet and innocent baby brother. She wished that she had been there with him. She wished that she had been able to do something to stop the tragedy from happening. She wished that she insisted that Eddie stay with them in the Red Keep and be in their group instead of the first. She would have given up her apparent freedom in the Vale if it meant that she could have her brother with her. Eddie’s life was much more precious than her freedom. 

Her brother was dead. Her baby brother was dead and there was no getting him back. 

How could the gods be so cruel? How could they take the baby and Eddie both? How could they be so heartless? Then again, these were the same gods who had watched on as Uncle Robert and Uncle Ned died. They had been silent. They had done nothing. 

Sansa crawled to her bed and knelt beside it, clasping her hands together and bowing her head. She would pray to her parents’ gods no longer. She would pray to Jon’s. She would pray to the Old Gods. She would pray to the gods who lived in trees, not lifeless stone. She would pray and beg that they hear her words, even if she was not of the North. 

“I know I have never prayed to you,” she whispered. “I know that I have only sworn by you when making vows and promises. I know that I am not before one of your frees or one of your faces, but I beg that you hear me. I beg that you listen to my prayers. I am but your humble servant and I swear to you that I shall pray to no other gods but you.”

She unclasped her hands and wiped furiously at her eyes but the tears would not stop. They would not stop and she felt as though she could not breathe. Sansa held her hands back together and pressed them to her brow, hoping that it would do some good. 

“I pray for Arthur, I pray for Mya, I pray for Joy, I pray for Joanna, I pray for Arya, I pray for Vylarr. Please, please keep them safe. “I pray for Tommen and Myrcella. I pray for my parents. I pray for Jon. I pray for…” 

The tears would not stop. They would not stop. How could they?

Her baby brother. Her precious baby brother who was the most innocent of them all. Her precious brother who was sweet and always smiled and kissed her cheek and hugged her first. 

Eddie… 

Sansa crawled onto her bed and buried her face into her pillow and continued to sob until her mind slipped into oblivion and her body grew heavy with exhaustion. 

—

Once Sansa has awoken from her sleep, a knock came to the door. She sat up carefully, touching her brow. She had cried so much that her head ached. “What is it?”

“Lady Arryn wishes to see you, my lady,” came Harry’s voice through the door. “I am to escort you to her when you are ready.”

“Give me a moment,” she said in reply. 

Sansa stood up and went to the mirror. She wiped her eyes carefully and smoothed out her hair and straightened her dress. She looked absolutely horrid, but surely her aunt would forgive her appearance if she knew already what had happened to Eddie. Sansa took a deep breath and opened her door. “I am ready.”

Harry offered her his arm and she took it carefully. She felt so very raw, as though her heart had been torn from her body and her limbs felt far too heavy that she feared she was being a great inconvenience to Harry as he escorted her to her aunt. 

“Bring her in,” came her aunt’s voice after Harry knocked on the door. He smiled at her gently and opened the door and closed it once she entered her aunt’s solar. 

Sansa curtsied. “Thank you for receiving me, Aunt Lysa.”

“There is no need for thanks, child,” she said flippantly. “We are both Tullys by blood, even if we bear the name of different houses.” She stood and held out her arms. “Come, let me look at you.” Sana’a did as she was told and approached her aunt carefully before stopping to stand before her so that she might be examined. “You look a lot as your mother did when she was first sent to the Red Keep under the Mad King’s rule. But you have your father’s eyes.”

Sansa lowered her head. “Thank you, Aunt Lysa.”

“I never said it was a compliment,” the older woman said flippantly. “You are to stay here. We shall keep you safe from the Baratheons. I know my son is sending some soldiers out tomorrow to meet with the Starks and their men. We shall alert them to your presence here.”

Sansa’s thoughts fluttered towards Jon and her cheeks warmed. “Thank you.”

“We shall have to dye your hair to a darker shade. Too many are aware of your description and it would be better for your red hair to not stick out more than it already has. Ser Yohn Royce has agreed to claim you privately as his bastard and that you have come to serve under me. What shall you like to be called?”

The question was asked so flippantly that it made Sansa’s head spin. “Called?”

“We very much can’t call you Sansa, can we?”

She blinked, trying to think of a name. “Lia,” Sansa said carefully. It sounded almost like her mother’s name. “Lia Stone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is officially in the Vale! ❤️


	89. Tommen III

Tommen touched the heart tree of the Red Keep’s godswood. He didn’t pray to the Old Gods. He swore to them at times, called out to them when he was angry, but he had not prayed to them. 

Sansa did. Sometimes he would come with her and sit under the shade of the trees and listen to her prayers. It was because she was going to marry Jon, supposed to marry Jon. She prayed to the Seven, of course, but she wanted to honor the gods of the boy she wanted to marry. 

He wasn’t sure if there was a godswood in the Eyrie. He wondered if Arya was near a godswood, wherever she was. He prayed that her gods saw her. 

A throat cleared behind him and Tommen turned to find Lady Margaery standing behind him. She wore a green dress much too low to be appropriate for a woman of her station, much less a widow. Even if she were still a maid, she had been married to Tommen’s uncle, she should be in mourning, even if she were to be married to Joffrey. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

He sighed and let his hand slide from the trunk of the heart tree. “You haven’t.”

“I was exploring the keep and was surprised to find this passage and even more surprised to find it led to this…”

“Godswood.”

“Right,” she said with a sweet smile. 

He did not know her well enough to guess if it was sincere or not, but he could only guess it wasn’t. He missed having someone like Arya around, someone who had little care to keep her thoughts private. He prefered her abrupt way of speaking, the way she would grin broadly whenever she had said something cheeky. 

“What did you pray for?” Lady Margaery asked. 

“The Old Gods prefer the silence,” Tommen said. “I can’t tell you.” He remembered Arya telling Sansa this as how his cousin had cried about the gods then not hearing her. Lord Ned had told her it was fine since she didn’t know. The memory brought a smile to his lips, but a pained squeeze to his heart. 

“It must be a kind prayer for you to smile so,” she said, and Tommen was a little startled at how close she had gotten to him. 

He cleared his throat. “Do you need guidance on how to get back to the main portion of the Red Keep?”

“That would be prefect,” she said, clapping her hands together before she linked her arm though his before he could even offer it to her. “I have feared that I have been neglecting you as you are to be my brother soon. I had rather hoped to become better acquainted.”

Ah, so she had sought him out. 

It was no secret that he found himself often in the godswood, thinking of simpler times. His father had gone upon occasion, praying on the rare occasion when he could not stomach the stoney faces of the Seven. He had been coming there more often, since his father’s passing he felt closer to him here than any crypt. 

“There has been no neglect,” he assured her. “I have simply been focusing my attention elsewhere.”

“Of course. No doubt you wish to become reacquainted with your uncle.”

“Yes, I have lost one already and was happy to see I had not lost another.”

She gripped his arm more fiercely at the implied reference to his Uncle Renly. “I am certain your uncle is happy to be received so warmly.”

“My uncle is exhausted from war and wants nothing more than to be reunited with his family, but that is impossible with all that is happening.”

“The war shall end soon,” the lady assured him. “Now that the Reach is to join with King Joffrey, surely victory shall come swiftly.”

“I shall pray that we all have your optimism, my lady,” he said. “For I fear very few of use, very few who have seen battle, feel such ease.”

—

Tommen visited his aunt and uncle’s solar. 

It was good to see his aunt smile as she did when Uncle Jaime was by her side. 

A sense of relief seemed to curl around the room like the warmth of a hearth. Occasionally there would be quiet moments that he observed where a deep settling grief would wash over them, like a cat curling upon their lap, refusing to move. 

There were moments where he could see that one of them could not remain strong and needed to rely upon the other to support them. 

It broke Tommen’s heart. Neither deserved such things. 

He understood the loss of a parent, but he felt that the loss of a child was something far greater. His father was not old, but he was his father, at one point Tommen would have to wake up and know that his father would not be there to greet him in the morning. That loss had come much earlier than expected. 

But to lose a child…

Such a thing should not even be spoken into being. Such grief and sorrow should never be contemplated, it shouldn’t have to. And to have Joffrey cover up such a loss and brush it off as the actions of those who oppose his rule…

It was cruelty. It was utter cruelty and there was no justice in the deaths of Eddie or the babe that never would be. 

Because nothing could equal the loss of a child, nothing. Nothing could be given to reconcile it. 

Anyone who thought otherwise was a fool or had been the cause. 

He felt protective of his aunt and uncle as his grandfather was. With his cousins gone it was his duty to take care of them. 

He made sure they were given the privacy they deserved and that Joffrey did not bother them too often. And he helped his uncle with accommodations for Lady Brienne. 

The older girl was interesting. She reminded him a little of Mya, but he felt that she was not afforded the same grace that Mya often was. 

He pushed the thoughts away and thanked the gods that this seemed to be one of the peaceful nights. Uncle Jaime had his head in Aunt Celia’s lap and she was stroking his hair, the picture of content. 

—

“Your brother wishes for you to form a betrothal,” his mother muttered, frustrated at the busy work Tommen’s grandfather had given her. “We must make sure it is a proper match. If she were healthy, I would have paired you with Joanna. But I would not have you marry a sickly girl like that.”

Tommen kept his mouth shut on that. He was already going to argue with her, he wasn’t going to stoke the flames anymore than he needed to. “I’m not forming a betrothal, Mother,” Tommen said firmly. 

“This is war, Tommen, we need to form alliances. Why else do you think your sister was sent to that horrid Dornish keep.”

_ To keep her and Joanna safe. _

“Mother, I will not enter in an engagement. There is no one to marry anyway.” He took a steadying breath. “We should wait until the war is won so that we might use a marriage to bind the fractures and not let them break more.”

His mother glared at him, her green eyes cold. “You will do as you're told, Tommen.”

“You are only the queen mother, you don’t have the authority and I doubt Joffrey wants me to be gone. And I doubt my grandfather would let you send me away. There is no wisdom to it.”

“Do not tell me you still have your heart set on the Stark girl?” 

Tommen hated that he was blushing but knew that he was. He had never spoken of his affection for Arya, it was more infatuation than anything. Her carefree nature and her strong sense of justice. A part of him had hoped that his father might suggest a betrothal between them, but when it did not happen, Tommen had been determined to be her friend at least. 

But now she and his cousins were lost and he didn’t know what he should do to protect her. 

“It’s nothing like that,” he said. “I thought she was pretty. We are at war and beauty should not matter when it comes to saving lives.”

“Then stop with your reluctance to help our family.”

Tommen ran his fingers through his hair. “I will not be used as a bartering chip. When we win, we will need someone to fix broken alliances. As of now, I am Joffrey’s heir as well as the Prince of Dragonstone and Lord of Storm’s End. I’m much more valuable single than married.”

“If you think such actions will protect the Stark girl, I have no doubt that she is already dead.”

Tommen banged his fist on the table. “If you wish to say something foolish then say it in private. Because of Joffrey’s foolishness we are at war. I will not have our family be responsible for the loss of any more great houses. I will not let Joffrey ruin everything our father built. If you wish to make foolish decisions, I shall not be part of it. Good day, lady mother.” Tommen turned on his heels and left the solar quickly, not wishing to hear another word. 

—

Tommen stood at the docks of King’s Landing, watching as the ships began to sail away. Some of them were full of soldiers and others were to send food to the troops. They would be of little use if they were starving. At least Joffrey had seen sense in that. 

“The king has blessed me with many ships,” the slimy voice of Lord Baelish came from behind him and Tommen turned to look at the Master of Coin. 

He never liked the man. Never liked the way he looked at Tommen’s aunt or at Sansa. Never liked the way he had Joffrey’s ear, or seemed to at least. He simply didn’t like the man, but there was not much he could do. Tommen had no place on the council and Joffrey already saw him as being less than useful. A nuisance as well, since Blackwater. 

“The king has been so kind to reward me for my loyalty,” Lord Baelish continued. “How many people would be shocked to look at me as a boy and imagine where I would be.”

“If I had known you in your youth, my lord, I would feel no surprise.” Tommen looked at him. “You are a host unto yourself. I have no doubt that you have crushed many people to get where you are.”

“I have. And I have made many enemies because of it, but also friends.”

“I doubt people in your employ would be considered friends.”

“Your humor is similar to your father, your grace. I am from the Vale, you see, and I am told that a kitten has arrived in the Eyrie.”

Tommen wouldn’t rise to the bait, but he still felt a chill run down his spine. “I wasn’t aware that Robin had a cat. Perhaps I should send one of my older ones to the Vale. Surely they would much prefer the cooler air than the oppressive heat of King’s Landing.”

“Perhaps,” the lord said. “I fear that such a kitten that has been brought to the Eyrie is quite valuable. Who knows what will be done to gain it.”

“The question is how much will be done to protect them, Lord Baelish.” Tommen turned away from the sea. “My father went to war for a girl he barely knew. I am my father’s son, my lord, and I would do much more for those I consider my own.”

The man’s wormy lips twitched into a brief smirk. “I have no doubt of that, your grace.”

“Then I suggest you remain wary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite Baratheon boy!
> 
> And what do you guys think of his little crush on Arya?


	90. Jon VI

Robb and Uncle Brynden were waist deep in the river as they released the funeral boat of Jon’s grandfather into the water. He was dressed like a proper lord with a flag sporting the Tully rested over him like a blanket, like he was asleep. His sword and shield rested upon his chest and at his feet. 

Jon stood next to his mother, his hand on her back as she tried so hard to not break apart. He could feel her trembling underneath his fingers. Robb and Brynden climbed up the steps of the pier and went behind Uncle Edmure, who stepped forward and readied his bow. He nocked the arrow and lit it. He aimed the bow carefully and fired it. The arrow arched through the sky and missed the boat entirely. The people at the dock began to murmur and Jon hid a grimace. Uncle Edmure repeated the movements, but missed once more. 

The Blackfish huffed impatiently and stepped forward and pushed Uncle Edmure aside and took the bow from him. 

He shot the arrow swiftly and with grand assurance. The arrow hit its mark and the boat was set aflame until it was nothing more than a spot upon their vision. 

—

Jon looked at his mother as she watched the window from her room in the Riverrun. The Riverlands were beautiful. He had been here so often and yet everything felt so very different. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He couldn’t go back to those days no matter how hard he wanted to. 

“A person could almost be forgiven for forgetting we’re at war,” she said softly. 

“It’s good, I think,” Jon said, “that the world sometimes seems to keep on moving even when the world of war seems to be so dark. It makes you remember what you’re fighting for.”

His mother took a shaking breath and Jon took off his cloak and set it about her shoulders. There was a slight chill in the air and the last thing that Jon wanted was for his mother to catch a cold. 

She set her hand atop of his as it rested on her shoulder. “Every time your grandfather would leave for the capital or fight in a campaign, I’d see him off.  _ Wait for me, little Cat _ , he’d say.  _ Wait for me and I’ll come back to you.  _ And I would sit at this window every ah when the sun came up, waiting. I wonder how many times Rickon or Lyanna stare across the moors of Winterfell waiting for me to return.” His mother pressed her hands to her face and began to sob. “And Bran… my baby Bran…”

Jon wrapped his arms around his mother. 

“Bran is alive, mother,” he said earnestly, stroking her hair and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Bran is alive, I know it. And Rickon and Lyanna are safe and sound in Winterfell where no one will touch them. They’re safe.”

“But I am not there with them,” she continued. She was trembling so violently and Jon held his mother close. He had been strong for so long and she was going through far too much than she deserved to. She had lost so much and it was not right that Robb kept her here, even though Jon understood why his brother did it. 

“I will speak to Robb,” he said earnestly. “I will see if he will allow me to go North. Perhaps that is where Arya and the others are headed. I will ask Robb that he lets me head North.”

“You are needed here, Jon,” his mother said hopelessly. “You two are needed together.”

“Mother…”

“Stay until the wedding,” she said softly. “Stay until the Frey alliance is secure. Perhaps your brother will be more willing to listen if the alliance is secure.” His mother stood and wrapped her arms around him. “We will go home soon.”

Jon squeezed her a little more tightly. “I’ll protect you, Mother. I promise.”

—

Jon looked down at the two boys laid out upon the cold stone. He didn’t know either of the boys well, only knew of Willem because he was Sansa’s cousin and that Tion was a Frey who had sided with the boy king because the Lannisters were mainly forced to stay in court. 

They were both pale and a little gaunt, but they had been alive and better treated than the other prisoners. 

Beside them were two Tully guards who had been killed for trying to protect their charges. 

Jon glanced at his mother and the Blackfish. They looked at the bodies, his mother in slight shock, the Blackfish in annoyance. Robb stood over the bodies, his face unreadable. 

“Bring them in,” Jon’s brother ordered. 

The Blackfish went and opened the door and Rickard Karstark and his men were marched in, their hands bound. 

“Is that all?” Robb demanded. “It took five of you to murder two unarmed squires and their guards?”

“Not murder, your grace,” Lord Karstark said with his head held night. “Vengeance.”

“Vengeance?” Jon said incredulously. “I watched your sons die at the Whispering wood. TION Frey did not kill Torrhen and Willem Lannister did not slay Eddard. How then can you call this vengeance? Your sons died honorable with swords in their hands. These boys were killed without even being given the chance to fight for their lives.”

“They are the kin of the men who took my boys away from me,” Lord Karstark said bitterly. 

“Do not speak to me and mine of loss,” Robb growled firmly. “Do not speak of me of the injustice of death when my father’s body is yet fresh in his grave. Do not speak to me of vengeance as we seek  _ justice  _ for my father and all the North.”

“If you must blame any for my action, tell your mother to take it. She killed them as much as I.”

Jon put his hand on the hold of his sword. “How dare you!”

Robb held up his hand. “My mother had nothing to do with your actions. This was your treason.”

“It’s treason to free your enemies,” Lord Karstark sneered. “In war, you kill your enemies. Did your father not teach you that, boy?”

The Blackfish grabbed Lord Karstark by the collar and pulled back his fist. 

“Leave him,” Robb ordered. 

“Aye,” the man sneered. “Leave me to the king. He wants to give me a scolding before he sets me free. That's how he deals with treason. Our King in the North. Or should I call him the King Who is Losing the North?”

“Escort Lord Karstark to the dungeon. Hang the rest.”

“Mercy, sire!” one of the men begged, falling into his knees. “I only watched for the changing guards! I didn’t kill anyone.”

Robb looked at the man in displeasure. “This one was only the watcher. Hand him last so he can watch the others die.”

“Please!” the man begged S he was being dragged away. “Please, no! They made me do it! They made me! They made me!”

Robb turned his back on them as they were escorted out. 

“If Joffrey hears about this,” Jon said, he will take this out on our aunt and Sansa. He will not take kindly to these deaths, even if he took our father’s head.”

“Then what do you feel I should do?” Robb asked. 

Jon shook his head. “I don’t know. But you cannot kill Lord Karstark. It is too much of a risk.”

“I’m not fighting for justice if I don’t serve justice to murderers in my ranks, no matter how highborn. He has to die.”

Their mother came from her position and stood by Robb’s side. “The Karstarks are Northmen,” she said earnestly. “They won't forgive the killing of their lord.”

“Your mother is right,” Uncle Edmure said. “If you kill him, the Karstark would abandon you.”

“However we cannot risk the Freys either,” Jon added. “Tion was of their house, even if he squired for houses serving Joffrey. If the Freys believe that no justice has been served they may turn back on their deal.”

“Spare him, Robb,” their mother urged. “Keep him as a hostage.”

Robb was quiet, thinking over everything that they had said and Jon prayed that his brother made the right choice. 

—

Jon snood next to his brother as Lord Karstark was brought out before the other lords and men. The older lord was angry, there was no denying that. He was like an animal of prey begging to be tested, sneering and waiting to be provoked. 

“Lord Karstark,” his brother began. “You are brought before your king and your fellow lords and men because you broke the rules of engagement. You killed prisoners who were under our protection and those who were given the duty of protecting them. While they were not our guests, they were our prisoners.”

“They were a part of the same group of men who killed my sons.”

“And now their father will want your head,” Robb said firmly. “If we do not allow justice to be had then we would have very few left alive.” Robb stood from his seat. “You claim to hate the Lannisters for what happened to your sons, but in your actions you have behaved like the people you so hate.” Robb took a steadying breath and Jon watched his brother nervously. He hoped that whatever his brother chose, it would be the right decision. “You shall not be killed, not because I do not view your actions as treason, but because you are worth more alive as the prisoners you killed were. But you shall not be a prisoner either.”

“Then what have you decided, King in the North?”

“Because you wish to act like a Lannister, the house you pronounce to hate, then you shall be given the same handicap as them. For the murder of the North’s prisoners, you shall lose your sword hand and be kept in the strategy tents, but you will not be allowed to fight. Whatever glory you have gained in battle will end this day.”

Robb motioned and the Blackfish and one of the Frey men grabbed Lord Karstark and held his arm out on a block, which everyone, no doubt, had thought would be for his head. 

“Perhaps, one day, you will learn to handle a sword as my Uncle Jaime has. While he lost his own to gain back my aunt from the Greyjoy’s, you lose your hand like a petty thief for taking your king’s prisoners and undermining his authority. Do you have any words before your hand is lost.”

“Your father would be ashamed.”

Jon flinched and looked at his brother’s whose eyes were cold. 

“My father would understand,” Robb said flatly. “Be thankful for your name, my lord, for it is the only thing that saved you, for I am not Joffrey Baratheon. I shall not take one of my bannermen’s heads because they disagree with me. I am Ned Stark’s son and we follow the old way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, a better decision was made. 
> 
> But can you believe this is chapter 90!?!


	91. Joy VI

Gendry was hunched over in the firelight, his tanned skin gleaming. It had been a day since they had let the Hound go and Arya was itching to leave. When her friend had asked about the awkwardness between herself and Gendry, Joy was determined to make things less so. For one, Arya liked him and he liked her. For another, he was their main protector, Joffrey wouldn’t be looking for them when traveling with someone like Gendry. 

“What are you doing?” Joy asked, sitting next to him. He was warm. She could feel him even through the fabric of their clothes. He was like a furnace, but perhaps that was just her heart responding to his nearness. 

“Just mending Lord Beric’s armor.”

“Why? Doesn’t he have someone who can mend his armor already?”

“I’m going to stay on,” he said, pausing in his work. “And smith for the Brotherhood.”

Joy’s heart stuttered in her chest. “Is it because I…”

“No,” he said firmly. “That’s not why.”

“If Joffrey’s men find this place, no one is leaving it alive. They won’t spare anyone, not even the smiths.” Joy wrapped her hands around his arm. “Gendry, it's too dangerous.”

“Joffrey wanted to kill me long before I joined the Brotherhood.”

“You don’t have to do this. You don’t…” She blinked the tears away. “You don’t—“

“I want to,” he said, putting his hand over her own and pushing the off his arm slowly. “They need good men.”

“Robb Stark needs good men too. We’re leaving tomorrow and then you—“

“What?” he asked. “Serve him? I’ve served men my entire life. I served Master Mott in King’s Landing and was sold to the Watch. I served Lord Tyrion at Harrenhal and wondered every day if I’d get tortured or killed. I’m done serving.”

Joy stood. “You just said you were serving Lord Beric.”

“He may be their leader, but they chose him.”

“They chose Robb too. They chose him as their king and—“

“These men are brothers. Kings are above everyone else, but these men… They're a family. I’ve never had a family.”

“I could be your family,” she said softly. Joy looked away as Gendry shifted his gaze towards her. “Me and Arya.”

“I’m a bastard, Joy.”

“So?” She faced him. “So am I.”

“It’s different,” he said gently. 

“How?” she demanded. 

“Because you’re a lady whose family wants her. A bastard is nothing if they don’t have a family.”

“That’s why we can be your family!”

“You two wouldn’t be my family. You would be my lady.”

Joy turned away quickly, tears coming into her eyes and led him quickly. It hurt. It hurt so much. 

—

Joy watched as Arya practiced shooting arrows into a man made of straw. Theon Greyjoy had apparently taught her. Lady Catelyn had apparently been a little annoyed at it, but Arya had enjoyed it and they did a trade of her having to do needlework for the same amount of time she learned archery. She was naming her list with every arrow she let fly as members of the Brotherhood, Anguy and Thoros being the only two she knew the names of, watched Arya practiced, or lazed about drinking or sleeping in the morning light. 

“Joffrey. Cersei. Ilyn Payne.”

“You’re good,” Anguy said, approaching Arya and Joy stiffened as she did so. “You’re just not as good as you think you are.”

She didn’t trust the Brotherhood. She didn’t trust men who claimed they wanted to serve Ned Stark and yet did nothing to add to Robb’s numbers. It was as though by not picking a king to get behind they thought themselves to be above everything. But I’m not choosing a side they were truly not doing anything. What was even the point of capturing the Hound if they weren’t going to do anything?

“Face, chest, balls,” Arya said flatly. Joy had told her that Gendry was staying too and she was not happy either. “I hit them right where I wanted to.”

“Aye,” Anguy said with a laugh. “But you took your sweet time of it. You won’t be fighting straw men, little lady. Show me your position.” Arya did as she was told and Joy watched her carefully as Anguy corrected her form. “Keep your elbow high. You want your back doing the hard labor.” He paused. “You’re holding. Never hold.”

Arya lowered her bow and glared at him. “What?”

“Your muscles tense up when you hold. Pull the string back to the center of your chin and release, but never hold.”

“But I have to aim.”

“Never aim,” Anguy repeated. 

“Never aim?”

“Your eye knows where it wants the arrow to go. Trust your eye.”

Arya drew her arrow and Joy wondered why she was still aiming when Arya lowered her bow. “There’s someone out there.”

The Brotherhood men all stood and Anguy took the bow away from Arya and nocked an arrow. Joy went to Arya and held her hand, ready to flee if they were gold cloaks. A party of mounted travelers approached, but they weren’t wearing Joffrey’s colors. 

Anguy pointed his arrows at the travelers as they stopped. “That’s far enough.”

A person dressed in all red lowered their hood and a beautiful woman with red lips and hair smiled at them. “We come as friends.”

“Begging your pardon, m’lady,” Anguy said, keeping his arrow ready. “But we’ll be the judge of that.”

The woman smiled and glanced at Thoros. “ _ Valar morghulis. _ ”

“ _ Valar dohaeris, _ ” Thoros answered and continued to speak in High Valyrian. “ _ I don’t see many priestesses of R’hollor in the Riverlands _ ,” he said. 

“ _ You are Thoros of Myr _ .” When he nodded, the woman smiled disdainfully. “ _ The High Priest gave you a mission. Turn King Robert away from his idols and towards the Lord of Light. What happened? _ ”

Why did they want Uncle Robert?

“ _ I failed _ ,” Thoros said plainly. 

“ _ You quit, you mean _ ,” the woman said snidely. “ _ The heathen continue to slaughter each other and you continue to get drunk. _ ”

“What are they saying?” Arya asked lowly. 

“They’re trading barbs, it seems,” Joy answered quietly. 

“ _ You worship him in your way, and I’ll worship him in mine. _ ” He then switched. “Do you speak the common tongue? My friends don’t speak High Valyrian. Why are you here, my lady?”

The red woman smiled, her teeth like pearls. Her teeth link a lion ready to pounce.

—

“Bodkin point,” Anguy said, holding an arrowhead between the four of them. “Penetrates plated armor at two hundred yards. Can you make them?”

Gendry took it from the archer and examined it carefully. “Yeah,” he replied, handing it back to Anguy. “Nothing tricky about it. Just need decent steel.”

Anguy smiled, putting it back in a pouch. “Then I’ll get you the steel.”

Some noise was made close by and they turned to see the red woman passing with her man as a wagon was pulled. 

“I don’t like that woman,” Arya said darkly. 

Anguy and Gendry were smiling like fools.

“That’s because you’re a girl,” the archer said and Gendry chuckled. 

“Why do boys think that just because a girl doesn’t like another girl it’s because they’re jealous. Are we so vain or do boys only see a pretty face and not the venom beneath?” Joy asked in annoyance. 

Beria approached them and bowed his head. “Forgive me, lad, my lady.”

A guard grabbed hold of Gendry, who was simply shocked, but then Joy felt a hand wrap firmly around her own arm. 

“What are you doing?” Arya demanded. “Let them go!”

She tried to pry the soldiers hand from Joy but she was pushed aside. 

“Let me go!” Joy shouted, struggling against the larger man,trying to pry his fingers from her skin. 

“Get off her!” Gendry shouted as they were dragged towards the cart, ropes brought to wrap around their wrists. 

“Tell them to stop!” Arya commanded, shouting at Beric. “He wants to be one of you and she was to come with me. You were to let us go to Robb! Stop them!”

“We serve the Lord of Light,” Beria said plainly. “And the Lord of Light needs these two. Blood of a king who knelt and blood of a king who rose.”

“Did the Lord of Light tell you that or did she?” Arya sneered. 

Joy was tied and lifted into the cart, pushed roughly so that the straw scraped at her knees as her dress was pushed up around it. A sob escaped from her lips as she tried to get out, but a soldier was on top of her tying another rope to connect her to the wagon. 

“No!” she shouted, hot tears sliding down her cheeks at the weight atop her. “No, please!”

“Get off her!” Gendry roared. Joy heard someone being hit and struggle but she didn’t know who it was, her heart beating so fast that her vision started to darken. 

“You’re doing it for gold,” she heard Arya say. 

“We can’t defend the people without weapons and horses and food. We can’t get weapons and horses and food without gold.”

“Stop, stop, stop,” Joy begged as the man finally got off of her and the rope around her wrists was tied to one of the rails of the cart. 

“I’ll go with you peacefully!” Gendry shouted. “Just let her go!”

“You two are worth more than you know,” a voice as smooth as Aunt Cersei’s came, like blood trickling down her knees. “You shall be the sacrifice necessary to end this war, to make the true king rise and the pretender fall.”

Gendry was pushed into the cart next to Joy and she began to sob uncontrollably. She didn’t know who these people were. She didn’t know what king they served. 

“I can’t go back,” she cried as the cart began to move. “I can’t go back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you guys didn’t expect that. And I’m dreading how close we are to the end of the third book/season of canon!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come chat with me on tumblr @fromtheboundlesssea  
I post updates, answer questions, and have moodboards for my fics!
> 
> Kid ages and family grouping:  
Mya Stone—20  
Arthur Lannister—17  
Sansa Lannister—15  
Joy Hill—15  
Joanna Lannister—13  
Eddard Lannister—9 (deceased)
> 
> Theon Greyjoy—19  
Robb Stark—17  
Jon Stark—17  
Arya Stark—15  
Bran Stark—13  
Rickon Stark—11  
Lyanna Stark—7
> 
> Gendry Waters—16
> 
> Joffrey Baratheon—15  
Myrcella Baratheon—14  
Tommen Baratheon—14
> 
> Tya Snow—12
> 
> Aemon Woodville—11  
Ciel Woodville—8

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What could have been](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218117) by [The_wolf_of_Winterfell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_wolf_of_Winterfell/pseuds/The_wolf_of_Winterfell)
  * [Lorn (adj. desolate, forsaken)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21263168) by [Wintercameandwent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintercameandwent/pseuds/Wintercameandwent)


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